The Midnight Tour

A few quiet chuckles came from audience members scattered around the auditorium.

Monica said, “Lame.”

“The very first local screening took place at ten o’clock on a Saturday night in the dining room of the Welcome Inn—projected onto a bed sheet that Janice hung on the wall. There was standing room only. Soon after that, Janice purchased a parcel of property and began the construction of her own movie theater. She modeled it after a place called The Haunted Palace that she’d read about...”

“Poe,” proclaimed Dr. Bixby. “‘A hideous throng rush out forever, and laugh—but smile no more,’”

Lynn smiled. “Nifty poem.”

“It’s called, ‘The Haunted Palace.’ It can be found in ‘The Fall of the House of Usher.’”

“That was not Janice Crogan’s source,” Darke said in a firm, clear voice.

“I beg to differ,” Bixby said.

“Actually,” Lynn said, “that’s correct. Was that you, Darke?”

“That was me.”

“You know your stuff.”

“Thanks.”

“Janice’s inspiration for The Haunted Palace didn’t come from Edgar Allan Poe, it came from a relatively unknown horror novel published in 1982. The book told about a movie theater that exclusively showed horror films...”

“And snuff films,” Darke whispered to Owen.

He nodded.

“....What Janice wanted to do with her theater.”

“I read it,” Owen said. As Darke smiled and nodded, he whispered the title of the book, the name of the author.

“...under construction, she continued to show The Horror every Saturday night at...”

“I love his stuff,” Darke whispered.

“...Welcome Inn’s dining room.”

“Me, too,” whispered Owen.

Darke squeezed his hand.

“...until she opened The Haunted Palace in 1984. From that time on, this theater has been running a full schedule of classic and contemporary horror films. But every Saturday night, it closes its doors to the general public at about nine o’clock and opens again at ten for the exclusive, Midnight Tour screening of The Horror.

“Before I go on to talk to you about the film itself, are there any questions about the theater?”

“Does it, like, show the good stuff?”

Lynn smiled and shook her head. “Such as?”

“I Spit on Your Grave, man. It’s the best.”

“How about Cannibal? That’s way cool.”

“The Hills Have Eyes?”

“What about Chain Saw?”

“Last House on the Left?”

Lynn held up a hand. “Those have all been shown here, guys, but...”

“What’s your fave?”

“Hard to say. But we do need to start The Horror fairly soon. If you’ll leave your names and addresses, we’ll put you on The Haunted Palace mailing list. There’s a sign-up sheet in the theater lobby. Any more questions?”

“Do you show Cabin Boy?”

“I’m not sure it’s a horror film,” Lynn said.

“Sure it is. It’s got, like, a giant.”

“It’s got, like, Dave.”

“Young men!” Bixby bellowed. “Some of us are not interested in your drivel.”

“Like, chill, dude,” Dennis said.

“Take a Prozac, asswipe,” said Arnold.

Lynn frowned at them. “That’s enough, guys. I’d like to get in a few words about the movie.”

Behind Owen, Bixby muttered, “Did one of those little shits call me an asswipe?”

“Okay,” Lynn said into the microphone. “Most of you are probably already familiar with the background of The Horror, or you wouldn’t be here. So I’ll make it brief. The film was based on Janice Crogan’s 1980 bestseller, The Horror at Malcasa Point, and made by an independent film company that called itself Malcasa Pictures. The screenplay was written by Steve Saunders, and the director was Ray Cunningham. The entire picture was filmed on location here in town in the summer of 1980.

“The making of The Horror was delayed by a situation that’s probably no less strange than the story of Beast House, itself. It’s been written up...many times. There’ve even been segments about it on such T.V. shows as Hard Copy and Unsolved Mysteries.

“As most of you already know, the legendary Marlon Slade came into town to direct The Horror. The leading lady was set to be played by Tricia Talbot, a beautiful young actress who would later go on to star in such movies as Silent Sbriek and Sunset Nights before her tragic death in 1988.

“Tricia was supposed to play the role of Janice Crogan in The Horror. However, the night before shooting was scheduled to begin, she was brutally beaten and raped by Slade. At the time, it was all kept very hush-hush. She drove off in the middle of the night. The next day, Slade explained her absence by saying that she had quit the film over ‘creative differences.’ Tricia later gave her version of the assault to the police, but it wasn’t made public until several years later.

“The reason she talked to the police was because—the very next day after raping her—Slade disappeared without a trace. Vanished into thin air.

“According to his assistant, he’d gone off to look for a young lady who called herself Margaret Blume. Margaret had been a guide at Beast House. Apparently, she was a very beautiful young woman, probably no older than sixteen. To this day, she remains a mystery. It’s believed that the name she used may have been an alias derived from Judy Blume, the author, and her very popular book, Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret.

“Almost nothing is known about Margaret Blume—just that she’d been guiding tours through Beast House for about a year before the film crew came to town. It’s speculated that she was a run-away who wandered into town, went on the Beast House tour, and somehow worked her way into becoming a guide. She would’ve been hired by Agnes Kutch, but Agnes has never been very communicative. All we really know about Margaret is that she was a young teenager and extremely attractive. Attractive enough to entice Marlon Slade.

“The day after his assault on Tricia Talbot, Slade approached Margaret about taking a role in the movie. Instead of simply turning the offer down, she fled—tailed by Slade’s assistant, who later told Slade where to find her. It seems that Margaret lived by herself in an old trailer up in the hills.

“That night, Slade must’ve gone to pay her a visit. His car was later found abandoned not far from the area where Margaret’s trailer was supposed to be. But her trailer was gone. She was gone. Slade was gone. No trace of Marlon Slade or Margaret Blume has ever been discovered.

“Some people say that Slade and Margaret fell madly in love that night, ran off together and changed their identities—and have been living together happily ever after. Personally, I think that’s nonsense. It’s much more likely that Slade went up to the trailer with the intention of raping Margaret—doing her the same way he’d done Tricia Talbot the night before. Perhaps she got the upper hand, killed him in self-defense, and then went into hiding. More likely, though, it went the other way around: Slade raped and murdered the beautiful teenaged guide. He somehow disposed of her body, and be went into hiding.”

“I like it better the other way,” Darke whispered.

“Me, too.”

She squeezed Owen’s hand.

“It’s one of those mysteries,” Lynn said, “that piques the imagination but has no answers. We’ll probably never know what became of Marlon Slade or the girl who called herself Margaret Blume. And we can only wonder how the movie might’ve been different if Slade bad directed it, if it bad starred Tricia Talbot.

“As things turned out, however, The Horror launched the career of Ray Cunningham, who has gone on to become one of our major directors. It starred Melinda James in the role of Janice Crogan—originally intended to be played by Tricia Talbot. Melinda went on to reprise the role of Janice in four sequels, and has appeared in numerous other thrillers.”

“Melinda rules!” called out Dennis.

“Bodacious babe,” called out Arnold.

“How about Pieces of Hate?”

“How about Death Cruise, man?”

“Cool.”

“Way cool.”

“You see her hangin’ upside-down?”

“Oh, yeah. Awesome.”

Lynn raised a hand for silence. “Arnold and Dennis are absolutely right. Melinda starred in Pieces of Hale, Death Cruise, and quite a few other films. And it was indeed awesome when they hung her upside down at the climax of Death Cruise.”

A few people in the audience laughed.

Darke even laughed.

Dennis said, “Her shoulders disappeared, dude.”

“Let’s just say they were temporarily obstructed from view,” said Lynn, grinning.

“I do wish they’d get on with the film,” Bixby muttered.

“As if anybody cares about any of this,” said Monica. “It’s all so incredibly lame and sophomoric.”

Vein looked back and said, “Shut your faces, both of you.”

“...original ‘Beast,”’ Lynn was saying, “and continued to play the beast through The Horror III: Resurrection”

“Sligo forever!”

“My man!”

“Guys,” Lynn said. “Chill. Please.”

“Cool,” said one.

“Sorry,” said the other.

“Gunther Sligo then went on to be stunt coordinator for several films. Recently, he has made a name for himself as the director of Expungement Night, which was a big hit this year at the Sundance Festival.

“The Horror, as I’m sure you all know, was a box office smash. It not only launched several successful careers, but also an epidemic of sequels and prequels. Last time I checked, we were up to The Horror VII: The Ripper. Some have been fairly good, but there’ve been a couple of real clinkers. I’m sure you all have your favorites. For most people, though, the best of the bunch was the first. It’s generally considered to be a classic of the genre.

“Tonight, you’ll have the very rare opportunity to experience The Horror on the big screen, completely uncut, in its original unrated version. This is a version that you won’t find at any other movie theater, and you’ll never see on television. If you rent or buy The Horror at a video store, you’ll be getting the one that’s rated R. It happens to be missing thirteen minutes—thirteen minutes that you’ll be seeing tonight.”

Lynn glanced at her wristwatch. “We’re running a little late, so please save any questions for later. Now, let’s start the movie. Clyde?”

The spotlight went out.

Moments later, Lynn was gone from the stage as the movie screen went bright with color.

Black letters on a scarlet background read, MALCASA PICTURES PRESENTS

Jungle drums began to pound.

The black letters faded away, leaving the screen red and empty like a sea of blood.

The drums kept booming.

And a beast lumbered out from the left side of the screen. The instant it appeared, the small group of tourists scattered through the auditorium of The Haunted Palace erupted with applause and whistles and shouts.

The beast stopped in the middle of the screen, turned toward the audience, and roared.

Chapter Fifty-four

“LET’S BOOK!”

Entering the auditorium just before the lights went out, Dana had asked Warren, “Where do you want to sit?”

“Do you think there’s room for us?”

Of about two hundred seats, only thirteen were occupied.

“Maybe we’ll have to split up,” Dana had said.

“I think there might be a couple of vacant seats over there.” Warren had pointed to the last row, where every seat was empty.

“Well, if we can squeeze in.”

“I’ll go first.”

In the middle of the row, they’d eased down into the soft armchairs.

“Is this too far back for you?” Warren had asked.

“I don’t mind.”

“I like having the wall behind us.”

“A lot safer that way,” Dana had agreed. “And we can make out.”

As the lights faded to darkness, Warren had leaned toward Dana and slipped his arm around her back.

He’d been fine during Tuck’s presentation, even laughing a few times, mostly at the antics of Dennis and Arnold. But when The Horror began, Dana could sense his tension. His back stiffened. His right hand, gently caressing her shoulder and upper arm, stopped moving. During the first beast attack, his thigh muscles flexed rigid under Dana’s hand and she heard his breath hissing in and out.

She turned her head slightly to look at him. He was gazing at the screen, eyes wide, mouth open.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

He didn’t respond.

She shook his leg. “Warren?”

As if dragged out of a trance, he looked at her. “Huh?”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Sure. I guess so.”

“You’ve seen this before, haven’t you?”

“Sure.” Mouth twitching, he added, “A few times. Like maybe fifty or sixty.”

“You seem awfully upset.”

“Well...”

“Is it the movie?”

“I...Yeah, I guess so. I haven’t...this is the first time I’ve watched it since...you know, getting jumped.” Grimacing, he said, “I didn’t think it’d be a problem. But I guess maybe it is.”

“Let’s book,” Dana said.

“No, no. I’ll manage. It’ll be all right.”

“Sure,” Dana said. She gave his leg a squeeze, then let go and stood up. “I’m booking. Want to come with me?” Not waiting for an answer, she took his hand and pulled.

Warren rose out of his seat and hurried along behind Dana to the end of the row.

She shoved open the door and towed him into the lobby.

“You can let go, now. I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t let go.

“You don’t want to miss the movie,” he said.

“I’ve seen it plenty of times.” She pushed open the glass door and towed Warren outside. After a few more strides, she turned around and took him into her arms. He was panting for air. His whole body seemed to be trembling. She hugged him tightly.

Soon, his breathing relaxed and his tremors faded.

Dana eased her hold on him. She gently caressed his back and brushed her lips against his cheek. “Feeling better?” she whispered.

“Feel like a jerk,” he muttered.

“Nah.”

“Can’t even watch a damn movie...”

“I don’t care about the movie. I just care about you.”

Then she kissed him on the mouth, moaning, rubbing herself against him, sliding a hand down and squeezing his rump.

She felt Warren’s hands on her buttocks.

Against her thigh, she felt his rising hardness.

And she realized they were standing beneath the brightly lighted marquee of The Haunted Palace, in plain view of anyone who might wander by on the sidewalk or drive past them on Front Street.

“Maybe we should go someplace,” she said.

“What’ve you got in your pocket?”

“What?”

“‘That hard thing,” Warren said.

“Oh, that. It’s my rod.”

“Your what?”

“Reach in.”

Frowning slightly, Warren slipped a hand down the deep front pocket of her shorts. The pistol swayed, bumping against her thigh. “It’s a gun!”

“Eve loaned it to me.”

Saying Eve’s name, Dana felt a surge of worry.

Where is she?

If she doesn’t show up for the tour, Dana thought, we’d better go looking for her.

She suddenly became aware of Warren’s hand, still down there with the pistol, rubbing her thigh through the thin fabric of her pocket lining.

She met his eyes.

He smiled. “You aren’t really wearing my skivvies, are you?”

“What do you think?”

“Uh...Doesn’t feel like you’re wearing anything under there.”

“Bingo.”

“Oh, man.”

“So. Where would you like to go?”

“Maybe we can find a Bingo game.”

Dana laughed.

Warren removed his hand from her pocket, took a deep breath, and sighed. “What about...should we go back into the theater? It’ll at least be warm.”

“No,” she said, and kissed him on the mouth.

“You could go back in without me,” Warren suggested. “I’ll head on back to Beast House and help the gals with cleanup.”

“No,” Dana said, and kissed him on the mouth again. “They’d be disappointed. They wanted us to have a nice, romantic time at the movie.”

“I don’t think that’s in the cards.”

“No, it’s not.” She kissed him on the mouth again. “Not at the movie, anyway.” Letting go of Darren’s rump, she raised her arm and over his shoulder glanced at her wristwatch. “We’ve got an hour and a half before the tour starts. Let’s try to use it wisely.”

Warren laughed, his body shaking against her. “I thought you were worn out from last night.”

“Not that worn out. Let’s figure out where to go.”

“There’s my place,” Warren said.

“What’s that, about a ten minute walk from here?”

“About.”

“We’d be killing twenty minutes just going back and forth.”

“There’s the snack stand.” He shook his head. “Only thing is, we’d probably run into Windy and Rhonda.”

“Let’s not.”

“I know! The museum!”

“The Beast House museum?”

“Sure.”

Dana could see it from where she stood—on the other side of Front Street and half a block to the north. The neon sign above its door flashed BEAST HOUSE MUSEUM & SOUVENIRS in swirling red letters that appeared to be dripping blood. Perched above the words was the blue neon outline of a seven foot tall, prowling beast.

A much smaller sign, also blue neon, lit up the middle of the display window. It read CLOSED.

“We can be there in a couple of minutes,” Warren said.

“Can we get in?” Dana asked.

“Sure. I’ve got keys to everything.” He pulled her by the hand.

They rushed over to the curb. There was no traffic in sight, so they ran across the street.

As they hurried up the sidewalk, Dana asked, “Will you be all right in there?”

“Sure.”

“Are you sure? I mean, if the movie got to you like that...I’d think the museum might be even worse.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“Have you been in it lately?”

“Does last week count?”

Dana nodded.

“Janice normally runs the place, you know. When she’s there, I drop in two, three times a week. And I have no troubles.”

“Might be a little different at this hour of the night.”

“Might be. Thanks for mentioning it.”

“You’re welcome.”

Approaching the door, Warren dug a key case out of his pocket. “When I get it unlocked, I’ll have to make a run for the alarm.”

“It won’t go off, will it?”

“Not if I get there in time. But don’t worry. It’s no big deal. I just won’t be able to dally in the doorway.”

“You don’t want me to clutch you to my bosom in a feverish embrace?”

He chucked. “Did I say that? Never mind. Screw the alarm.”

At the door, Warren slipped a key into the lock. Dana stood behind him. “I feel like a lookout for a heist,” she said.

“Anybody coming?”

In both directions, the sidewalks looked deserted. A few cars were parked along the curbs. A van that had already passed them was heading away, its tail lights glowing red.

“Coast is clear,” Dana reported.

“Ever been in jail?” Warren asked, and opened the door.

“No.”

Pausing at the threshold, he smiled back at her. “Always a first time.”

“Warren!”

Laughing, he hurried into the darkness.

Dana stepped inside, shut the door, and waited. Compared to the outside chill, the museum felt comfortable. And it smelled wonderful, air rich with pleasant scents from the candles and soaps in the gift area.

The neon CLOSED sign in the window gave everything nearby an eerie blue glow. It cast a dim shine along the top of the glass counter beside Dana, but it left most of the museum in darkness.

Off in the darkness, she heard footsteps.

“Got it,” Warren said.

“So we won’t be going to jail?”

“Hope not”

Dana made out a vague shape coming toward her. “That better be you,” she said.

The shape stopped in front of her and reached out. She felt a warm hand drift against the side of her face. “Maybe we should get away from the windows,” Warren said. “Might be a slight bit embarrassing if we got caught in here.”

“Maybe we’d better not be in here.”

“We aren’t breaking any laws. I have a key.” He took Dana by the hand and began leading her into the darkness. “I also have Janice’s permission to come and go whenever I want.”

“Do you really?”

“Yeah. Far as she’s concerned, I can do no wrong.”

“Do you think she’d approve of this?”

“Oh, yes. When she finds out...”

“You’re not going to tell her?”

"Well...”

“You can’t tell her we snuck in here in the middle of the night.”

“If you don’t want me to, I won’t.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. Do you tell her everything?”

“Pretty much.”

"Wonderful.”

“I can’t wait to tell her about you. She’s been...a tittle worried about me. Since the incident, you know? She’s been afraid I might...sort of cut myself off.”

They stopped walking.

They seemed to be somewhere near the back of the museum’s main room, near a corner. Looking toward the front, Dana glimpsed a few small mists of blue glow. Most of her view was blocked by tall shelving, shrouded by darkness. From where she stood, no windows were in sight.

She turned toward Warren, but could barely see him.

“So anyway,” he said, "Janice’ll be awfully glad to find out that I’ve...uh...found someone I really care about.”

“You really care about me?” Dana whispered.

“More than... yeah. I sure do.”

“More than what?” she asked, her heart pounding faster.

“More than anyone. Ever.”

She wrapped her arms around him.

Sprawled on top of Warren, breathless and sweaty, Dana pushed herself up to a sitting position.

He stayed in her.

Raising both hands toward her face, she pressed a button to light the numbers of her wristwatch.

11:47

“What’s the bad news?” Warren asked.

“Quarter till twelve.”

He groaned.

“I’d better get dressed.”

He took hold of her thighs. “No, wait.”

“I promised Tuck.”

“I know. But...five more minutes?”

Smiling in the darkness, Dana hunkered down over him. She placed her hands on the carpet and eased from side to side. Her breasts swung, nipples brushing across Warrens chest. She felt him move inside her. Felt him grow.

"You want me to miss the tour, don’t you?” she asked.

“You don’t have to miss it. Five or ten more minutes...”

He pushed up slightly, sliding himself deeper.

Dana moaned "You don’t make it easy.”

"Sorry.”

"Sure.”

"You’d better get going,” Warren said.

“Yeah. I’d better.”

She sank down on him, mashing herself against him, sucking his tongue into her mouth. His tongue slurped out as she pushed herself up. Gasping for air, she guided his hands to her breasts, then clutched him by the shoulders. “I think I can spare a minute or two,” she said.

By 11:55, they were both dressed and standing just inside the museum’s front door.

Dana gave Warren a quick hug and kiss. “I’ve got to run,” she said. “Maybe you’d better stay here, make sure we didn’t lose anything in the dark.”

“You didn’t lose your pistol, did you?”

She had felt the weight of the .380 in her pocket as she’d pulled up her shorts, had felt it bump against her thigh with each step she took on her way to the door. She could feel it now like a hand trying to tug down her shorts. “Still there, all right.”

“I hope you don’t need it.”

“If I do, should I save the last bullet for myself?”

"Don’t even joke about that.”

"I’ve gotta go.”

“I’ll come along.”

She shook her head. “No, really. You should stay here and clean the place up. We don’t want to leave a mess behind.”

"You’re probably right.”

“See you tomorrow?”

Warren nodded.

Dana pulled him against herself and gave him one long, hard kiss. Then she eased him away, turned around and opened the door.

"Be careful,” he called after her.

“Bye-bye, honey,” she said, and hurried to the curb.

The fog was much thicker than before.

She could hardly see to the other side of the road. The street lights looked as if they’d been muffled with cotton.

A block away, the marquee of The Haunted Palace was a shapeless, fuzzy red blur.

Shivering, Dana rubbed her arms.

She glanced both ways, looking for headlights. Then she dashed across Front Street. At the other side, she leaped the curb, swerved to the right, and sprinted up the sidewalk toward Beast House in a race to beat the midnight deadline.

Chapter Fifty-five

WARNINGS

“I know you’re all freezing,” Lynn called, walking backwards at the front of the group. “So I’ll spare you my usual twenty minute speech in front of the porch, and we’ll go straight in.”

“Here here!” bellowed the professor.

As they hurried along, Vein zipped up her leather jacket. Darke let go of Owen’s hand and huddled against his side. He put an arm around her back. Through the thin silk of her shirt, he felt her shaking.

“Hang on,” he said. He pulled off his Crawfotd Junior High School windbreaker. "Here, put this on.” He held it open while Darke slipped her arms into the sleeves.

Though her black blouse was still unbuttoned, exposing bare skin all the way down to her waist, she drew the windbreaker shut and fastened its snaps. Trembling, she smiled up at Owen. "Thanks,” she said, then once again tucked herself in against his side.

Again, he put his arm around her back.

Turning his head, he pushed his face into her soft hair.

"Oh. how sweet,” came Monica’s voice from somewhere behind him. “Owie’s got a boyfriend.”

As she spoke the last word, Darke reached back and slipped a hand down inside the seat pocket of Owen’s jeans.

"If you look to your left,” Lynn announced, “you may note that something seems to be missing.”

Owen looked. Through the iron bars of the front fence, he saw the lawn dissolve into fog. There was no trace at all of Beast House.

“We may have to rethink our plans for the tour,” Lynn said.

“This is so cool,” Darke said quietly to Owen..

“Yeah.”

“I just love the fog.”

“Me, too,” he said. "Do you get much of it where you live?”

"Not much.”

Somewhere in the fog ahead of them, Lynn said, “Go all the way up to the house.”

“Where do you live?” Owen asked.

"Tucson.”

"Arizona”

Darke nodded. “I’m in grad school at the university.”

“What’re you working on?”

"Go on up to the house,” Lynn said, closer now. “I’ll be along in a minute.”

“An M.A. in literature. Vein, too. We’re roomies.”

Following those in front of them, they turned to the left just before the ticket booth. They passed Lynn, who was holding the gate open.

“Go all the way up to the house,” she told them. "I’ll be along in a minute.”

As they headed up the walkway, Lynn repeated the instructions to those behind them.

“Is Darke your real name?” Owen asked.

“Of course not,” she said.

Soon, the black shape of Beast House began to emerge through the fog. Somehow, it made Owen think of a ghost ship bearing down on them.

“Look at that,” he said. “It’s like something out of William Hope Hodgson.”

The hand in his back pocket squeezed his rump. “You been talking to Vein?”

“Huh?”

“I just love Hodgson.”

“You’re kidding,” Owen said. “Most people have never even heard of him.”

“You meet the coolest people on a Beast House tour.” She squeezed his butt again. “Who else do you like?”

"Herbert.”

"Herbert who?” Darke asked.

"James.”

"Herbert James? Any relation to Henry?”

“I hate Henry,” Owen said.

"I love Herbert,” said Darke. "And you’re right about Henry. He’s a bore. And he don’t know shit about rats.”

They climbed the porch stairs. In the midst of the other tourists, they turned around and waited,. A few more people, down on the walkway, were materializing out of the fog.

Then Lynn appeared. "Is everybody ready for the Midnight Tour?” she called.

A few scattered voices replied, ‘Ready.’ and "All set,” and "Any time.”

“It’s terribly cold out here,” complained the woman in the tennis outfit. Since the last time Owen had noticed her, she’d put her sweater on.

"Colder than a witch’s tit,” said Arnold.

“Colder than a zombie’s dick,” said Dennis.

"Colder than...”

Raising a hand, Lynn said, “Guys, guys, guys.”

"Morons.” The quiet mutter came from Monica. She sounded as if she were standing directly behind Owen.

"There are ladies present,” Clive proclaimed.

“It’s an unexpurgated tour, dude,” Dennis said.

“Right on,” said Arnold.

Stopping at the foot of the porch stairs, Lynn said, “I’m sure everyone would appreciate...”

A dark, running shape raced out of the fog behind her.

"Look out!” someone shouted.

She whirled around.

"It’s me, it’s me!”

Owen recognized the voice and the tall, shapely figure.

Dana.

He felt as if an old friend had shown up. Strangely, however, he didn’t find himself excited or even very interested in her arrival.

The lack of interest made him feel as if he’d somehow let her down,

That’s crazy, he told himself. She never cared about me.

We’re strangers.

But I wanted her so badly!

He tried to picture how she’d looked last night, naked by the jacuzzi. But the image that entered his mind and made him start to stiffen was Darke in the men’s restroom earlier tonight when she first pulled open her shirt.

“You made it,” Lynn said.

"Hi, everyone!” Dana called out.

"Dana!” Dennis yelled, waving furiously.

“The main babe!” yelled Arnold.

"Lynn’s the main babe,” Dana told him. “I’m just here to help out. I hope I didn’t delay things.”

“We were just about to start,” Lynn told her. “Tell you what. I’ll lead the way. Why don’t you do me a favor and take up the rear? Keep an eye out for stragglers.” Facing the group, Lynn said, “We should all stay close together after we enter the house. That way, everyone’ll be able to see and hear what’s going on. Also, we’ll be less likely to lose any of you. Every now and then, stragglers get picked off.”

Owen heard a few quiet laughs.

“I assume she’s kidding,” Eleanor muttered.

"Anybody has any questions, wait till we’re inside. It is a little nippy out here.”

With that, Lynn rushed up the porch stairs. Several people moved quickly to let her by. Owen heard keys jangle.

He and Darke turned around to face the door.

Darke pulled her hand out of his pocket. Taking hold of his hand, she looked up at him. “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.”

“Me, too,” he said.

“I can’t believe I’m finally here.”

Neither can I, Owen-thought.

She’s here, all right, Here with me. And it’s not a dream.

Better not be.

Holding Darke’s small, warm hand, he stepped over the threshold.

Lynn must’ve turned on a light as she entered; a chandelier cast a murky glow through the foyer.

She made her way forward to the main stairway, climbed to the third stair, then turned around. “Welcome to Beast House,” she said.

Dana shut the door.

“Now, I know you’ve all seen The Horror. I’m going to assume that you’ve already taken the self-guided audio tour, and that some of you have read one or both of Janice Crogan’s books. If you haven’t, you’ve put the cart before the horse. The Midnight Tour is like an advanced class. We’re really not here to rehash the basic stuff. But it’s not exactly a class, either. We’re here to have a good time, and we hope to give you an experience that you’ll always remember and look back on with pleasure.

"During the next two hours, we’ll be exploring the entire house. You’ll see places that aren’t shown during the regular tours. And you’ll hear things that aren’t said on the tapes. I want to give you a few warnings along those lines. In the course of the tour, we’ll be visiting both the attic and the cellar. There are a couple of fairly steep stairways involved. If any of you have problems with climbing stairs, you might want to bow out before we get started. The same with anyone who is easily offended. This tour isn’t meant for prudes. I’ll be telling you things that any normal person would find shocking and revolting. That’s the point of the tour—to give the uncensored truth. You probably knew that before you shelled out your hundred bucks, but in case you weren’t paying attention, I’m warning you now. It get’s nasty. I don’t hold back. So you’d better bow out if you’re afraid of what I might say.

“If you do quit the tour now, we’ll refund a hundred percent of your admission price.”

“A hundred percent?” asked the man with the mustache and camel sweater. He sounded surprised.

“I know,” Lynn said. “You’ve already had the picnic and seen the movie. But we don’t want anyone on the tour who shouldn’t be here. It can ruin it for everyone.”

“That’s certainly generous,” said the man’s wife—the one with the great eyes.

"It might sound generous. The thing is, nobody has ever taken us up on it. By the time we get this far, nobody can stand to back out.”

Tourists chuckled and nodded.

“One final warming. Some people find the tour to be extremely stressful. Since you’re here, I figure you enjoy being a little frightened. You should prepare yourselves to be very frightened. Anybody pregnant?”

Owen saw several of the females shake their heads.

Beside him, Darke’s head shook.

He heard a snigger, probably from Monica.

“We’re no doubt all pregnant with expectation,” said Bixby.

“Oh, duuuude,” Dennis said. It came out like a moan of despair.

"Bail out, Boxboy,” Arnold suggested.

“Bugger off,” Bixby responded.

“Huh huh.”

"Booger off.”

Lynn raised her hand. "Okay,” she said. “I take it that nobody is pregnant—with child. That’s good. We had a gal one time who got so excited on the tour that she went into early labor. We’ve also had a couple of heart attacks. If you have any history of high blood pressure or heart disease, you’d be better off not taking the tour. Anybody with trouble along those lines?”

She waited. Heads shook. No arms were raised and nobody spoke up.

“Are you sure? I don’t want anybody pitching over on us.”

“Looks like we’re all fine ’n dandy,” said the stocky guy who was married to the woman in the tennis costume.

“Okay. One last thing before we start. If any of you do experience physical or emotional trouble during the course of the tour, please speak up. I’m sure Dana will be happy to escort you outside.”

"What sort of refund then?” asked the man in the camel sweater.

“After the tour has actually started,” Lynn said, “there will be no refunds at all.”

“When does it start?” asked Clive.

“I’ll count to five. While I’m counting, you can all decide if you really want to go through with this. One.” She paused for a second, then said, "Two.” A few moments later, "Three.”

As she said, “Four,” quick thumps erupted in the darkness behind her.

People gasped.

Owen’s heart jumped.

Darke jerked stiff and squeezed his hand.

Then some screamed and others shouted, “Look out!” and "Behind you!” and a solitary female voice shouted out, “Duck!” as a shiny white hairless creature rushed down through the darkness at the top of the stairs.

The beast!

Lynn looked over her shoulder, saw it and shrieked.

Dana plowed through the group, shoving people out of her way.

Someone—Owen didn’t see who—flung open the front door to escape.

The beast pounded its way down the stairs, dead white and shiny, all muscle and teeth and claws—and penis. Erect, it tilted up like a broom handle.

Two stairs above Lynn, the creature lurched to a halt and lifted its head off.

Clyde, hair mussed from the full-head mask, smiled down at his audience. “Welcome to Beast House!” he called out.

Dana abruptly stopped at the foot of the stairs.

Many of those who remained in the foyer began to laugh with relief, clap loudly and mutter.

"Bravo!” Bixby called out.

Darke looked up at Owen, smiled and shook her head.

“Pretty cool,” Owen said to her.

“I almost wet my pants,” Darke said.

“A tough guy like you?”

She grinned.

Several people began to snap photos of Clyde and Lynn on the stairs.

Off to the side, Vein looked around, raised a single black eyebrow at Owen and Darke, then bent down and slid the knife into her boot. Nobody seemed to be watching her. She stepped closer to Owen and Darke. "I knew it was a fake-out,” she said.

They both laughed.

Lynn was now standing with Clyde on the same stair. Holding the hideous white head under one arm like a football helmet, Clyde nodded, grinned and waved.

Lynn held up both arms. “Would somebody like to go outside and try to bring back our runaways?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Phil.”

Owen had seen Phil around. A normal-looking guy with a nice-looking wife. Though Owen hadn’t spoken to either of them, he’d noticed Phil’s unusual hair. Black with a patch of white near the front, it had reminded him of Cotton Hawes, one of Ed McBain’s 87th Precinct cops.

"I’ll go with you,” Phil’s wife said. She was husky and had a pleasant face. Wearing a flannel shirt, jeans and boots, she looked as if she belonged in the woods somewhere. She followed Phil out the door.

“While they’re gone,” Lynn said, "the rest of you can take a couple of minutes to relax.” She grinned. "Glad to see that you’re all still standing.”

“That was a dirty trick,” said the camel sweater man, chuckling and shaking his head. “I loved it.”

"I almost pooped,” announced Arnold.

“You’re crude, dude.”

"Huh-huh.”

"Get a load of the scblong on that guy.”

"That’s crude.”

Phil and his wife came back in, followed by the woman in the tennis whites and her husband. With a big smile, the man waved at the group. “Just stepped out for a breath of fresh air, everyone.” He gave a thumbs-up to Clyde. “Nice job, fellow. Sure put one over on me.”

“Are you both all right?” Lynn asked.

“Oh, fine,” the man said.

His wife said nothing, but glowered toward Lynn and Clyde.

"All in good fun,” Lynn said. Then she took a deep breath and said, “Last call for bailing out of the tour and getting a full refund. Any takers?”

A sour look on her face, the tennis woman muttered, "Biff?”

"I’m staying,” he told her. “If you want to leave, be my guest. You can wait for me in the car.”

"What’ll it be, Eleanor?” Lynn asked.

The woman almost snarled. “I’ll stay.”

“Very good,” Lynn said. “The tour starts now.”

Chapter Fifty-six

THE STRANGENESS OF BEASTS

Heart still racing from the scare of what she’d thought was a real attack on Tuck, Dana rubbed her sweaty hands on the sides of her shorts. The pistol had been halfway out of her pocket by the time Clyde had stopped and pulled off his mask.

My God, what if I’d shot him?

Tuck should’ve warned me, she thought.

Probably didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

"This is Clyde,” Tuck announced, slapping him on the back.

“Hi, everyone,” he said.

“He’s a regular member of our staff, and our favorite beast. Some of the ladies like to say it’s type casting.”

Clyde chuckled, then raised the ugly, snouted mask and pulled it down over his head.

"Behold a beast,” Lynn said. "this is what they actually look like. Not quite like the ones they show in the movies, is he? The movie beasts are almost pretty compared to the real thing. And of course, they never let you see this.”

Tuck gave the jutting shaft a flick with the back of her hand. The gentle blow made it sway from side to side. A few people chuckled. Some made sounds of dismay. An impish smile appeared on Tuck’s face.

"Don’t worry,” she said, “it’s not real. Like the rest of the suit, it’s made of synthetics. But every detail of the suit is accurate. According to people who know, its appearance and texture is almost exactly like the actual beasts. Down to the slightest details. Note the sharp claws on its hands and feet. Note its teeth—in botb mouths. ”

As she wrapped her right hand around the shaft, just about everyone in the group either groaned or snickered.

“Go for it,” Dennis said.

“I’m sure that most of you have heard about this,” Lynn said. With her left hand, she pointed at the blunt head of the penis. Stretched across it was a mouthlike orifice that seemed to be frozen in a snarl. "There are passing mentions of it in Janice Crogan’s books, but it’s one of those things nobody wants to dwell on...no pun intended.”

After a pause, there came a mixture of laughs and moans. Dennis and Arnold elbowed each other, chuckling. Eleanor shook her head. Owen and Darke laughed. Monica, standing close behind them, looked as if she might be smelling something sour.

"This...” Tuck said, “is obviously the beast’s most unusual feature. But it’s something you don’t hear much about and you certainly never see it in any of the movies. You never hear about it on the day tour, either. This is the beast’s deep, dark secret.”

With her left hand, Lynn withdrew an eight-inch long flashlight from a front pocket of her shorts. “I’ll light it up for you.” She thumbed the switch, then shined the bright beam on the mouth. “Why don’t you come over here, one at a time, and take a closer look if you’re so inclined?”

Nobody took her up on the offer.

“I know you all want to look. Dennis, Arnold, you guys wanta break the ice?”

"Bitchin’,” said Arnold.

“Cool,” said Dennis.

As they made their way toward the foot of the stairs, Lynn resumed her talk. “The beast comes equipped with a quite an impressive mouthful of teeth. There is also a forked tongue. On an actual beast, the tongue extends about two to three inches, but our replica doesn’t do that. You’ll only be able to see the very tips of it.”

Dennis leaned forward for a close look. “Whoa, dude,” he muttered. He stepped aside. While Arnold inspected the mouth, Andy and Alison Lawrence stepped up behind him to await their turn.

“We’re not entirely sure about the functions of the second mouth,” Tuck went on. “We don’t know, for instance, whether the creatures are able to consume food with it, or breathe through it. We do know that they bite.”

A few people winced.

"Charming,” muttered Eleanor.

More people lined up to inspect the mouth.

"They bite and suck. And taste. As Lilly Thorn wrote in her diary, ‘this orifice and tongue enabled him not only to titilate me in the extreme, but also heighten his ardor by the taste of my juices.”

“Awesome,” Arnold muttered.

Dana had read that section of the diary. The portions dealing with the beast had been printed in Janice Crogan’s first book, The Horror at Malcasa Point, and photographs of the actual diary pages had appeared in the second book, Savage Times. Tuck was telling her nothing she didn’t already know.

Regardless, Dana found herself pressing her thighs together. Doing that, she felt her soreness and stickiness and stopped thinking about the beast. She was suddenly back in the museum with Warren. In the dark. Wrapped around him, enveloped by him, feeling him everywhere.

After a while, she realized she was missing the show.

Tuck still stood beside Clyde on the third stair, shining her flashlight on the costume’s nasty little mouth while people from the tour stepped up for a closer look

"...said to be great lovers,” Tuck was explaining. “Because of their wild ways, their unbridled lust, the staggering size of their penises and the mouths, women were known to lose all interest in normal men after having a close encounter with a beast. That’s what happened to Lilly Thorn, the woman who built Beast House.”

Dana wondered if she should take a look at Clyde’s costume.

Why not? Might as well go whole bog.

She stepped forward.

“As soon as everyone’s done,” Tuck said, "I’ll take you downstairs into the cellar and we’ll have look at the place where, in a sense, it all began. In the meantime, any questions?”

“What about female beasts?” Monica asked, smirking. “Or aren’t there any?”

“We know that females existed on Bobo Island when the Mary Jane landed there in 1901. In the battle that took place between the ship’s crew and the beasts, however, all the females were slaughtered. Only Bobo, an infant male, was brought back to the States. All the subsequent beasts are apparently his descendents.”

“From human mothers?” asked Eleanor, sounding a bit skeptical.

"That’s correct.”

“If that were the case,” said Andy, “it seems that the first off-spring should’ve been half-human. ”

"Genetically speaking,” added his wife, Alison, nodding in agreement.

"And if that one mated with a human female,” Andy continued, “their child ought to lose about three-quarters of its beast traits.”

"I know,” Tuck said. “That’s generally the way it’s supposed to be. I completely understand. In fact, though, there hasn’t been any noticable change in the physical appearance of the beasts since Bobo came to town almost a hundred years ago. Maybe there’ve been changes that nobody noticed, but nothing obvious.”

“From a scientific standpoint,” Andy said, “it seems impossible.”

Tuck grinned. "And yet, it’s true.”

“Aren’t their offspring ever female?” asked Connie.

Next in line, Dana watched Professor Bixby step forward to view the mouth.

Do I really want to see this thing? she wondered.

Hell, no.

Then how come I’m standing here?

"...in Malcasa Point?” Tuck said. “Not that we know of. If there have been females...” She shrugged. "In certain present-day human cultures, you know, female infants are commonly destroyed at birth. Because they aren’t considered socially convenient.”

"That’s not so,” blurted Eleanor, sounding distressed. “I don’t believe that for a single minute.”

“I’m afraid it is true,” said Alison, coming to Tuck’s defense.

“India, for starters,” Andy pointed out.

“Exactly,” said Tuck. “In present-day India, there’s wholesale slaughter of female infants. Apparently, they’re considered a burden on family finances.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Eleanor insisted.

“But true,” Tuck said. "Anyway, I only brought it up to indicate the possibility that the beasts may have practiced something along those lines—killing the females at birth. That could explain why we’ve never seen any around here. Or maybe something else is going on.”

At last, Bixby moved on.

Dana stepped closer to the stairs. Standing in front of Clyde, she crouched slightly. Tuck still shined her flashlight on the mouthlike orifice. The opening was rimmed by thin, white ridges... lips? The teeth looked sharp. The tongue, just inside, was bright red.

What would it be like to... ?

Dana found herself blushing.

The rigid, half-open mouth suddenly darted at the tip of her nose.

She gasped and lurched backward.

“Hey!” Tuck snapped. She gave Clyde a quick jab with her elbow.

“Very funny, Clyde,” Dana said.

Quiet, muffled laughter came out of the beast mask.

As Dana hurried away, Tuck asked the group, "Any more questions?”

“I underhand that the beasts are bi-sexual,” boomed Bixby.

“I’d say that’s an understatement,” Tuck answered. “They appear to be omnisexual. To be crude about it, they’d screw the crack of dawn. If there isn’t a suitable orifice for the purpose, they’ll create one with their teeth. They’ve been known to chew their way in.”

“Oh, dear God,” blurted Eleanor, sounding appalled.

“Is everybody done inspecting Clyde’s anatomy?” Tuck asked. “He will be accompanying us on the tour, so you’ll have plenty of other opportunities to observe his peculiarities ”

“The beast’s peculiarities,” Clyde corrected her.

“Those, too.”

“Lynn’s nothing if not amusing,” Clyde announced. “And she’s rarely that.”

Tuck said, “He only thinks I won’t fire him.”

Keeping her flashlight on, she stepped to the bottom of the stairs. “We’ll be going down to the cellar, now. I’ll lead the way. Everybody stay close behind me. Dana will take up the rear,”

Tuck stepped around the newel post and disappeared into the hallway alongside the staircase. Hanging back, Dana watched the others follow her. Clyde waited on the stairs. His white, hairless head swiveled as he looked from the group to Dana. After all the tourists had crowded into the hallway, he stepped down to the first stair.

Dana motioned for him to go ahead.

He stayed. “Ladies first.”

“Lynn wants me to take up the rear.”

“I always go last.”

“Okay,” Dana said. “Whatever.” She followed the others into the hallway.

Clyde hopped off the bottom stair and came after her.

The hallway was murky with remains of light from the foyer chandelier. The tourists in front of Dana were pressed close together, slowly shuffling along.

Clyde prodded her in the rump.

She jerked her head around. “Stop that,” she whispered.

“My reputation precedes me.”

“Keep that thing away from me.”

He poked her with it again. “How would you like it in you?”

“Knock it off.”

“If you’d like to just make a little detour into the employee’s restroom...”

“No thanks.”

“The next best thing to getting it from a real beast.”

She stopped, turned sideways, and shoved her face up close to the twisted snout of his mask. Seething but trying to sound calm, she whispered, “Listen to me, Clyde. I’m not interested. Okay? So just keep your damn prick to yourself, keep your mouth shut and leave me alone. Please.”

He laughed softly. It sounded strange through the mask.

“What if I don’t?” he asked, his voice smirky and taunting. “You gonna tell on me to Lynn? Think she’ll fire me? She wouldn’t dare.”

“Just leave me alone.”

“Sue me for sexual harassment?”

“Maybe.”

He lifted a pale hand and clutched her left breast. Through the fabric of her shirt and bra, the points of the claws were sharp against her skin.

She bashed the hand away. “Touch me again and you’ll be sorry.” She whirled around and hurried up the hallway. It was deserted in front of her. The tour had moved on.

She heard Clyde close behind her.

With each stride of her right leg, she felt the pistol bump against her thigh.

Just forget about that, she told herself. I can’t shoot him for pawing me.

Eve probably would.

Eve!

Why isn’t she here?

Dana found the tour group inside the dark kitchen. They were gathered near the open pantry door, where Tuck stood with her flashlight. Its beam swept toward Dana and lit her.

“Thought maybe the beast had nailed you,” Tuck said.

“Nope. Everything’s fine.”

Clyde stepped through the doorway. Tuck shined the flashlight on him. “Staying out of trouble?” she asked.

He waved. The claws of his beast hand cast long, hooked shadows on the wall to his right.

“Okay,” Tuck said. “Before we descend into the cellar, let me tell you that the audio tour is loaded with lies and half-truths. It’s based very closely on the original tours given by Maggie Kutch, and Maggie had a lot to hide. You already know most of this if you’ve read Janice’s books. Have any of you not read either book?”

More than half the people in the group raised a hand.

“That’s fine. If you’re only familiar with the audio tour and haven’t read either book, then you’ve been misled about a lot of things. During the course of tonight’s tour, I’ll be telling you what really happened.

“Let’s start at the beginning—with the beast’s first foray into the house. On the night of August 2nd, 1903, it supposedly came wandering out of the hills, just happened to stumble upon this house, came in and slaughtered Ethel Hughes in the parlor. Then it ran upstairs and murdered Lilly’s kids. Lilly managed to escape by climbing out her bedroom window. That’s the way Maggie always told it. But that’s not how it happened.

“The real story begins more than two months before that bloody night in August. On the night of May 18th, Lilly went down into her cellar to bring up a jar of canned fruit—and made a startling discovery. Two of her jars were broken. A third was empty. She’d had a visitor. A hungry visitor.

“To be continued in the cellar,” Tuck said.

Dana heard a few murmurs and moans.

“Nobody’s required to come with me,” Tuck said. “If any of you think you can’t deal with the cellar, you’re welcome to wait for us here. Of course, you’ll be missing a major highlight of the tour.”

“How long will you be down there?” asked Eleanor.

“Ten minutes, maybe a little longer. Would you rather stay here?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe. Would I be the only one?”

“I’m not going to miss the cellar,” Biff told her.

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Anyone else want to wait here?” Tuck asked. Nobody responded. “Looks like you’d be on your own, Eleanor.”

“I can’t stay here by myself.”

“Well, if you’d rather wait outside the house...”

“And miss the tour?”

“If you don’t want to miss the tour,” Tuck said, “you really should stick with the rest of us. It’ll be fine. The cellar might seem a little creepy, but it’s perfectly safe. We haven’t lost a tourist yet...Except for a few who stayed behind.”

Through scattered laughter, Tuck said, “I was just kidding about that. We haven’t lost anyone. You’ll be safe whether you wait here or come with us.”

“Come on, honey,” Biff said.

“Well... I guess I’ll come.”

“Bravo!” said Bixby.

“Thata girl,” said Biff.

“All right,” said Tuck. “Everybody wait here. I’ll go down and turn the light on. As soon as it’s on, you can begin coming down the stairs. Be careful, though. They’re very steep. I suggest you hold on to a railing.”

Tuck vanished into the pantry.

Dana heard whispers, a few quiet chuckles. Somebody let out a long, ghostly “Woooooooo!”

“Childish,” said a female voice. Dana suspected Monica.

Another female voice crooned, “Here it comes, the vile beast. It wants to rape you, then to feast. And if it doesn’t like your taste, it spits you out like gory paste.”

Laughter and applause.

“Awesome ditty,” said Arnold.

“Rrrrrrrape!”

“Huh-huh.”

Dim light suddenly filled the doorway.

“All right,” Tuck called. “Come on down. But please, take it carefully.”

Though Clyde stayed close behind Dana, she tried to ignore him as she followed the tourists through the doorway, into the pantry, and down the cellar stairs.

Chapter Fifty-seven

THE CELLAR

Owen wanted to ask Vein about the poem she’d recited. Where had she found it? Had she made it up? Was there more to it?

But then the cellar light cast its glow into the pantry, Lynn called up from below, and the group started shuffling forward.

“Here we go,” Owen whispered.

Darke squeezed his hand.

Side by side, they stepped through the doorway and began to follow Vein down the stairs.

Owen felt trembly with fear and excitement.

This is it, he thought. We’re going down.

Can’t believe it.

Owen had often hoped that he would someday find a chance to experience the Midnight Tour. But he’d never really expected it to happen. That he now was here seemed unreal.

And all the more unreal because of Darke.

It seemed impossible that such a strange, beautiful creature had actually sipped his blood, sucked him, taken him into her body, and was now holding hands with him like a cherished lover as they made their way down the stairs.

Best night of my life!

Below them, a woman said quietly, “I don’t liiiike this.”

Though Owen didn’t recognize the voice, he thought it might belong to Connie, Phil’s wife.

“It’s all right, honey,” said a guy. Phil?

“This is the hour when the beast loves to strike,” said Vein in a voice loud enough for all to hear. “And this is its lair.”

Nervous chuckles.

“I do hope you’re enjoying yourself, Owie,” Monica muttered from behind him.

Eat your heart out, he thought. But he said nothing.

Darke turned her head and looked up at him. Her eyes made him forget all about Monica. They made him want to know every secret of Darke’s life.

What if tonight is all we ever have? he thought. Tomorrow, maybe she won’t be interested in me anymore. She’ll go away with Vein and I’ll never see her again. Never hold her hand again, never kiss her again...

A terrible sorrow welled up in Owen.

She’s with me now, he told himself. I’m in the cellar on the Midnight Tour and I’ve got Darke holding my hand right now, right at this very second, right here in the present. Here in the present, this is the greatest of all possible nights. Don’t ruin it by worrying about tomorrow.

At the bottom of the stairs, they walked over the dry dirt floor of the cellar and joined the semi-circle of tourists in front of Lynn.

Darke let go of Owen’s hand. Easing in against his side, she reached across his back and rested a hand on his hip.

He slid his hand across the back of his own windbreaker and curled his hand over Darke’s shoulder.

“Awwww,” said Monica. “What a handsome couple.”

Darke rubbed his hip.

“Did we lose anyone?” Lynn asked.

Heads turned this way and that.

“Beast didn’t put the snatch on anyone?” Lynn asked, grinning.

“All accounted for,” announced Bixby.

“Okay, then I guess we’ll continue with Lilly’s story. As I mentioned in the kitchen, she found that someone had been in the cellar, breaking jars and sampling some of her canned goods. She knew her boys hadn’t done it; the empty jar had contained beets. Her kids hated beets. So she was sure that a stranger had been down here. She was no coward, Lilly Thorn. Instead of running away, she searched the cellar. And she found a hole in the floor. This hole.” Lynn stepped aside and gestured behind her.

Owen couldn’t see the hole. People blocked his view. He didn’t worry, though; he was certain that everyone would be given a good chance to look at it before leaving the cellar.

“When Lilly found the hole,” Lynn said, “there was no steel cover. We added that a few years ago—along with the padlock—as a security precaution. This hole is the mouth of a tunnel that leads into the hills behind the house. We used to get occasional woodland visitors before we sealed it.

“When Lilly found the hole, she figured it must’ve been the way in for her intruder. The next night, she came down with a shovel, planning to fill it in. But her intruder had paid another visit in the meantime, helping himself to a couple of jars of peaches. Suddenly feeling sorry for him, Lilly gave up her notion of filling the hole. In her diary, she wrote, ‘My heart went out to the luckless, desperate soul who had dug into my cellar for a few mouthfuls of my preserves. I vowed to meet him, and help him if I can.’

“Later that night, after her kids were in bed and her lover had gone home, she came back down into the cellar. She was dressed in her nightgown. She sat on the bottom stair to wait in total darkness for the arrival of her hungry visitor.

“Soon, she heard stealthy sounds of movement from the direction of the hole. She was able to make out a dim, pale shape rising out of the darkness. ‘And I was filled with dread,’ she wrote, ‘for this was no man. Nor was he an ape.’”

“As the creature approached Lilly, she had to see it better. So she struck a match.”

Vein and Darke suddenly recited in unison, “‘Whether he was one of God’s exotic creatures, or an ill-made perversion vomited forth by the devil, I know not. His ghastly appearance and nudity shocked me. Yet I was drawn, by an irresistible force, to lay my hand upon his misshapen shoulder.’”

“Very good!” Lynn said.

Dennis and Arnold clapped wildly and said, “Far out” and “Bitchin’.” Several of the other tourists clapped as well, while others nodded in approval.

“For those of you who might not have recognized it,” Lynn said, “Vein and Darke have just done a very nice rendition from Lilly’s diary. Making my job a lot easier. Can you give us more?”

“If you like,” Darke said, squeezing Owen’s hand.

“Please. Proceed.”

Again in unison, their voices rose through the silence. “‘I allowed the match to die. In the darkness, totally without sight, I felt the creature turn.’”

As they continued, the beast Itself—with Clyde inside—made his way through the group. Startled, some people flinched or gasped before stepping aside to let him pass.

“‘His warm breath on my face smelled of the earth and wild, uninhabited forests. He lay his hands upon my shoulders. Claws bit into me. I stood before the creature, helpless with fear and wonder, as he split the fabric of my nightgown.’”

Clyde in the beast suit climbed onto an old steamer trunk beside Lynn and began to strike muscle-man poses.

“‘When I was bare, he muzzled my body like a dog. He licked my breasts. He sniffed me, even my private areas, which he probed with his snout.’”

Lynn seemed delighted. “Excellent. Can you go on?”

“‘He moved behind me. His claws pierced my back, forcing me to my knees.’”

Clyde began to pantomime the beasts movements.

“‘I felt the slippery warmth of his flesh press down on me, and I knew with certainty what he was about. The thought of it appalled me to the heart, and yet I was somehow thrilled by the touch of him, and strangely eager.

“‘He mounted me from behind, a manner as unusual for humans as it is customary among many lower animals. At the first touch of his organ, fear wrenched my vitals, not for the safety of my flesh but for my everlasting soul. And yet I allowed him to continue. I know, now, that no power of mine could have prevented him from having his will with me. I made no attempt to resist, however. On the contrary, I welcomed his entry. I hungered for it as if I somehow presaged its magnificence.

“Oh Lord, how he plundered me! How his claws tore my flesh! How his teeth bore into me! How his prodigious organ battered my tender womb. How brutal he was in his savagery, how gentle in his heart.

“‘I knew, as we lay spent on the earthen cellar floor, that no man could ever stir my passion in such a way. I wept. The creature, disturbed by my outburst, slipped away into his hole and disappeared.’”

Simultaneously, Vein and Darke bowed deeply like stage actors. Atop the steamer trunk, Clyde raised both arms in triumph.

The midnight tourists burst into wild applause and cheers.

Bixby shouted, “Bravo!” Others called out, “Wow!” and “Well done!” and “Great!” Through the tumult, Owen heard Dennis and Arnold shouting, “Awesome!” and “Dudes!” and “the Beast rules!”

Owen hugged Darke. “That was fantastic!” he whispered.

When the group settled down, Lynn said, “Thank you very much, Vein and Darke. We’ve never had anything like that before. Did you prepare it especially for tonight?”

Vein shook her head. “We performed it for a Halloween show at college.”

“Really?” Lynn seemed amused and delighted.

“But we never got to finish,” Darke explained. “They stopped us.”

“Escorted us off stage,” Vein added.

“We almost got expelled.”

Laughing softly, Lynn shook her head. “Why does that not surprise me?” she said.

“This is the only time we’ve ever been allowed to do the entire piece.”

“I wish we could have you here to do it every Saturday night,” Lynn told them. “I can’t recite all that stuff. I just paraphrase. So thank you again. You’ve given us all a real treat.”

They received more applause.

“And now,” said Lynn, “it’s time for a treat that is a regular feature of the Midnight Tour. I’m about to remove the padlock and open the steel cover so you’ll all be able to take a look down the hole itself. This is the beast’s actual hole. Nobody on the daytime tours ever gets a chance to see it uncovered. It’s for the midnight tourists only.”

Lynn turned her back to the group and squatted down. Owen heard a jingle of keys.

“Do you unlock the other one, too?” asked the man in the camel sweater.

“Afraid not,” Lynn said. “We never open the door to the Kutch tunnel. Not even for the Midnight Tour. It’s totally off-limits. But we will be talking about the tunnel a little bit later.”

Owen heard a quiet snick. The padlock snapping open, he supposed. A moment later, Lynn stood up and stepped to the side.

“We’ll have our own beast do the honors,” she said. “I’m prettier, but he’s stronger.”

Clyde jumped down from the trunk. He sank to a crouch. As he came up, hinges groaned. Then came a heavy metallic clank.

“Thank you, beast,” Lynn said.

He gave her a casual salute, touching the claws of one hand to his brow. Then he stalked away.

“You can come up one at a time, now, and take a good look at the hole. I’ll shine my flashlight down there for you. When you look, try to imagine Lilly Thorn’s beast crawling out of it on a summer night so long ago. A night very much like this one. Okay, who wants to go first?”

In the silence following her question, a faint, distant voice called, “Hellllllp meeee!”

People gasped. Others chuckled.

“Cool,” said Arnold.

“You’ve got someone in there?” asked the camel sweater man, sounding suprised and amused.

“Bully!” proclaimed Bixby.

“Awesome,” said Dennis.

“Probably just a lame recording,” Monica said.

Lynn held up a hand for silence. “Quiet, everyone. This isn’t part of the show.”

“Oh, sure,” Monica muttered.

Several people went, “SHHHHHH.”

“...elllllp!”

It seemed to be coming up through the hole in the cellar floor. A woman’s voice.

“Holy shit,” Lynn muttered.

“Let me through.” Dana’s voice sounded quiet but urgent. “Excuse me. Excuse me. Let me through.”

As those in front of Owen stepped out of the way, he saw Lynn drop to her knees beside the hole and bend over it. “HELLO!” she yelled.

Dana squatted beside her.

“It’s just a big act,” Monica said.

“Shhh.”

“I’m in the tunnel! I can’t get out! My hands are cuffed!”

“Holy shit,” Lynn muttered.

Dana shouted into the hole, “EVE! IS THAT YOU!”

“Dana? Lynn?”

“RIGHT!” Lynn shouted. “WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?”

“What the hell took you so long?” asked the faraway voice.

“ARE YOU OKAY?” Dana yelled.

“Been better. Can you get me out of here?”

“ARE YOU ALONE?” Lynn asked.

“For now. But he might come back.”

“Shit,” Lynn said.

Members of the tour began speaking to each other. Owen heard confusion in some voices, alarm in others.

“Is this real or isn’t it?” Bixby suddenly demanded.

“It’s real,” Lynn said. “Please be quiet.”

“We’ve gotta do something,” Dennis said.

“Gotta save her,” said Arnold.

“Somebody needs to call the cops,” said the camel sweater man.

“Where’s the nearest phone?” asked Biff.

“I’ll go call,” said a muffled voice.

Lynn leaped to her feet. “Clyde! We need cops and an ambulance.”

“Got it.”

Looking over his shoulder, Owen saw the shiny white beast spring up the cellar stairs, taking them two at a time.

Behind him, Dana said, “Give me.”

Owen jerked his head forward in time to see her grab the shiny aluminum flashlight out of Lynn’s hand. “I’m going in,” she said.

“No, you’d better just...”

“See ya later.”

Dana dropped to her knees. She shined her light into the hole and shouted, “I’M COMING AFTER YOU!” Then she toppled forward, arms first, and plunged headlong.

In less than a second, she was gone to the ankles.

Her feet kicked.

The soles of her boots vanished into the darkness.

Chapter Fifty-eight

THE RESCUE

From the accounts Dana had read, she’d expected the tunnel to be a tight squeeze. Diving in, she’d feared that she would have to squirm through, flat on her belly.

But the accounts must’ve been wrong. Either that, or the tunnel had been enlarged in recent years.

After a wild downhill skid just below the cellar floor, Dana found that the tunnel had enough room to let her crawl on her hands and knees.

In the lurching beam of her flashlight, she saw only more tunnel ahead of her.

Dark gray day on all sides.

She felt as if she were crawling through a bowel.

Doesn’t smell too good, either.

What is that smell? she wondered.

Something’s dead in here!

“Eve?” she called.

“I’m here.” She didn’t sound very close.

“Where?”

“Just keep coming. You can’t miss me.”

“Is there something dead in here?”

“You bet there is.”

Dana grimaced but kept crawling. The ground felt moist and cool under her hands and knees. She was starting to breath hard from the exertion.

“How did you get in here?” she called.

“Dragged.”

“Jeez. Who did it?”

“Not sure. I went in the house last night...this is Saturday?”

“Right.”

“Midnight Tour?”

“That’s right.”

“Told you I’d make it.”

“Glad you turned up.” Dana stopped crawling and tried to catch her breath.

“Almost didn’t,” Eve said. “But I heard cheers and stuff.”

“That was us. Had an impromptu performance.”

“Good thing. If I hadn’t heard the commotion, I would’ve kept quiet. You get yourself in a place like this, you don’t spend much time yelling, I’ll tell you that.”

“Scared?”

“Who, me? You bet I am.”

Dana resumed crawling.

. “Know why they call me ‘Eve of Destruction? Cause I’m so scared, I make sure to get them before they can get me. Only this time I didn’t.”

“How’d that happen?”

“I got jumped from behind. Big-time. Up in the attic. Got myself creamed. Don’t know who did it. Stronger than shit. Might’ve been a beast.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Looked like a beast. Felt like a beast.”

“Had a lot of...experience along those lines?”

“A matter of fact, yeah.”

Dana panted for air, then asked, “How’s that?”

“My little secret.”

“Shouldn’t keep secrets...from your rescuer.”

“How come you’re the one? Where’s Lynn?”

“I beat her to the punch. Anyway, I’m bigger and stronger. Is this gonna call for brawn?”

“Might. Aren’t there any guys up there?”

“I didn’t wait around for volunteers.”

“Well, I sure appreciate...I can see your light!”

“Great!”

“You’re almost here.”

Huffing for breath, Dana crawled faster. “He dragged you all this way?”

“Guess so. I was really out of it.”

“Must’ve been a job.”

“Yeah. Too bad he didn’t have a heart attack.”

“Do beasts have heart attacks?” Dana asked.

“Not sure he was one.”

Just ahead of Dana, the left-hand wall of the tunnel seemed to vanish.

“You’re here,” Eve said.

Dana crawled the final distance. Shining her light to the left, she found herself looking into a hollowed-out area.

Eve was sitting naked on a rag-littered floor. Her raised arms, cuffed together at the wrists, were suspended by a chain that hung down taut from a four-by-four ceiling beam. Her skin was striped with scratches and furrows, some shiny with blood, others crusted over.

“Jeez,” Dana muttered.

Eve smiled. Her lips were torn and puffy. One cheek was badly scratched. Her right eye was swollen almost shut. “Looks better than it feels,” she said.

Dana turned her head and shouted over her shoulder, “FOUND HER!”

A moment later, she heard Tuck’s faint voice. “How is she?”

“I’LL LIVE!” Eve shouted.

Tuck’s faint voice called back, “Dana? Can you get her out okay?”

“Tell her yes,” Eve said.

“How’ll we get you out of the cuffs?”

“We’ll manage.”

“ILL GET HER OUT!” Dana yelled..

After a short pause, she heard Tuck call out, “Holler if you need help.”

Dana nodded. To Eve, she said, “We’ve got an ambulance coming. And cops.”

“Somebody better call the coroner, too.”

Reluctantly, Dana eased her beam of light away from Eve.

Two other people hung by chains from the center beam.

One looked as if it used to be a child. Not enough was left for Dana to tell whether it had been a boy or girl. The other body still retained one breasts, though it was missing a mouth-sized chunk where the nipple should’ve been.

Hunching over, Dana vomited onto the rag-covered floor.

People’s clothes.

Wave after wave of painful spasms racked her body as she choked up a burning flood of stomach acid and cheeseburger and beer and maybe even the Red Hot Beastie Weenie that she’d eaten for lunch. Tears ran from her stinging eyes. Her chest hurt so badly she felt as if she might start coughing up her lungs and heart.

At last, the spasms subsided. She gasped for air.

“Are you all right?” Eve asked.

“Those people...they’re eaten.”

“Yeah.”

“God! Are you okay?”

“I’m not missing any parts. Not yet.”

“What’d it do to you?”

“Nothing that hasn’t been done before. Let’s get me out of here.”

Though Dana still held on to the flashlight, it was half buried in the floor rags. She raised it and shined the beam on Eve. The brightness climbed to her raised arms, to her cuffed wrists. “Are they your cuffs?” she asked.

“Might be. I had ‘em with me.”

“Where did you keep the key?”

“Pocket of my jeans.”

Dana began shining her light on the scattered clothes, searching for blue jeans. A couple of times, she accidently glimpsed the ruined bodies but didn’t allow herself to focus on them.

She spotted a rumpled pair of jeans on the floor not far behind. Eve. To reach them, she crawled between Eve and the body of the woman. She bumped against Eve.

Eve winced.

“I’m sorry.”

“No problem. I’m a little tender here and there.”

“I’ll bet. My God.” She got to the jeans. Kneeling, she lifted them with her left hand and shook them open. These yours?”

“Wranglers?”

“Yeah.”

Groaning and wincing Eve turned herself halfway around. She peered at the jeans from beneath an upraised arm. “They look like mine.”

Dana set down her flashlight. With her right hand, she began to search the pockets. “What were you doing in Beast House last night, anyway?” she asked.

“Looking for a beast.”

“Guess you found it.”

“It found me. Whatever it was.”

“There’s nothing in the pockets.”

“Are the pocket linings shredded?”

“No. I don’t see any tears.”

“Okay. I guess that settles it.”

“Settles what?”

“It wasn’t a beast.”

“What?”

“I had my doubts.”

“It had to be a beast,” Dana said. “Look what it did to you...and to them!”

“Beasts don’t go around emptying people’s pockets,” Eve explained. “if they want something out of a pocket, they dont reach in—they rip the pocket to shreds. But that isnt the only thing. How’d he get through the padlock on the hatch?”

“I don’t ... ”

“With a key. I’ll bet everything looked normal up there tonight.”

“Yeah.”

“So he had to use a key. And tha’s no how a beast would do it.”

“You said it looked and felt like a beast.”

“Didn’t smell like one.”

“Huh?”

“Beasts don’t smoke cigarette.”

“You think it was a guy in a beast suit?”

“Scoobie-doobie doo.”

“Fuck.” Dana muttered. She dropped the jeans. With her left hand, she picked up the flashlight She shoved her right hand down the front pocket of her shorts. “You think it was Clyde?”

“Could’ve been, I guess.”

Dana pulled out the pistol. “He’s on the tour,” she said. “He runs around in that authentic beast sult. And he smokes cigarette.”

“Does her Pulling downward with her arms, Eve drew the chain taut.

Dana scurried over to her. She stopped very dose to Eve’s back. In the pale beam of her ftashlight, she saw that Eve’s shoulders and back were seamed with claw marks..

Just like Warren!

Clyde did it all! Attacked Warren, tearing him up and sodomizing him and making him always afraid. Dragged Eve in here, ripped her...

“Might not’ve been him,” Eve said.

“Did he:..rape you?”

“I got nailed pretty good,” Eve said.

With that big fake cock with its mouth and teeth?

“I’ll kill him,” Dana said.

“Let’s leave the killing to me. I’m not really sure who or what did all this.”

“It had to be Clyde,” Dana said. “He’s got the beast suit. He smokes. And he probably has keys. I bet he does have a key to the cellar hatch. He’s in charge of the whole operation whenever Tuck’s away.”

“He’s sounding pretty good for it.”

“Oh, God!”

“What?”

“He’s the one who went off to call the cops.”

“Or maybe not,” Eve said.

Dana shined her light on the handcuffs. Stretching out her right arm, she pressed the muzzle of her pistol against the thin, shiny chain connecting the handcuff braclets. Blasted apart, it would free Eve from the heavier chain that suspended her from the ceiling beam.

“Wait,” Eve staid.

“What?”

“After you fire, we won’t be able to hear ourselves think. We’ve gotta do our talking now. One shot should take care of things. But keep at it till I’m loose. Then give me the gun.”

Dana almost smiled. “It’s your gun, anyway.”

“Yep.”

“Thank God you gave it to me.”

“Soon as I’m free, I want it back. After that, best thing for you to do is get out of my way.”

“What about the flashlight?”

“I’m not gonna leave you down here in the dark. You keep it. If you can stay fairly close behind me, maybe you can light the way.”

“I’ll be right on your tail.”

“Good deal.”

“Ready?” Dana asked.

“Do it.”

Thrusting the muzzle hard against the chain, she pulled the trigger. The pistol bucked in her hand, blasting out a tongue of fire. The BLAM! smacked her ears and left them ringing.

Eve jerked her arms down.

It worked!

Twisting around, Eve snatched the pistol out of her hand.

And dropped it.

She snarled out a word that Dana couldn’t hear. Then she shook both her arms and Dana realized that they must be numb. As she kept on shaking them, Dana picked up the pistol.

Eve flexed the fingers of both hands, shook her arms some more, flexed her fingers again, then nodded and reached out.

Dana put the pistol into her right hand.

“GIVE HIM HELL!” Dana shouted into her face.

Eve’s head moved up and down. Then she twisted away, lurched forward, fell to her elbows and knees and scurried up the tunnel.

Clutching the flashlight, Dana crawled after her

Chapter Fifty-nine

THE ATTACK

After shouting a few questions down the hole to Dana, Lynn stood up and turned to the group. “I guess we got more than we bargained for. The way things look, we’ve walked into a brand new chapter in Beast House history. Apparently, one of our local police officers, Eve Chaney, somehow got abducted and taken down into the tunnel. It sounds as if she’ll be okay, Dana will probably have her out of there in a few minutes. If not, I’m sure she’ll be safely rescued by the emergency personnel who should be arriving shortly. You’re all welcome to stick around. But as for tonight’s tour, I don’t see much chance of going on with it. You’re certainly free to leave. If you can, stop by the ticket booth tomorrow. We’ll either give you a full refund, or...If I run a special Midnight Tour tomorrow night, how many of you would be able to make it?”

Owen raised a hand. So did Darke, Vein, Dennis, Arnold and Bixby, Among the three couples that appeared to be married, no hands went up. Owen couldn’t hear what was being said, but he figured they were probably talking it over.

“That looks pretty good,” Lynn said. “I’ll definitely run a tour tomorrow night for those of you who can make it—assuming that it’s not impossible for one reason or another.”

Done conferring with his wife, the camel sweater man said, “I believe we’ll be able to stay over for it.”

“Great,” Lynn said.

The cellar door banged shut.

Owen looked over his shoulder and saw Clyde bounding down the stairs in the beast suit.

“Couldn’t get through,” a voice announced The muffled sound seemed to be coming from Clyde’s mask.

“What do you mean?” Lynn asked him.

“The phone’s out.”

“The office phone?”

“Right.”

“You couldn’t go someplace and find a phone that works?”

The beast shook its head.

“You’re a lot of help.”

The massive white shoulders shrugged.

“I have a cell phone,” said Eleanor, the tennis lady.

“It won’t work down here,” Lynn said. A moment later, she said, “But it’s worth a try.” Holding out a hand, she said, “Here, let me see it.”

“I’ll have a go at it myself,” said Bixby. He reached into a pocket of his safari jacket and hauled out a cell phone.

“We might as well try it, too,” said the camel sweater man.

“Alison?”

His wife reached into her purse.

Shaking her head and laughing softly, Lynn said, “I’ll try 911. Somebody else try to get hold of an operator. Shit, just call anyone you can get. Tell ‘em where we are, that we need cops and an ambulance.”

The cellar came alive with twitters and beeps.

“I DON’T THINK SO!”

Owen looked around.

Clyde had taken the beast head off. His face was red and twisted, his eyes wild. The hideous mask seemed to be resting on his shoulder. But he suddenly cocked back his arm and hurled the white head forward like an oversized softball.

Owen heard a distant, heavy blam! that sounded like a gunshot.

An instant later, the beast head crashed through the dangling light bulb.

The bulb exploded.

The cellar fell dark.

All around Owen, screams erupted.

He swung Darke around to the front and she came up tight against him. He wrapped his arms around her back. He could feel her panting for air as chaos swarmed around them.

From every side came shrieks of terror, cries of pain.

People yelled—

“No!”

“Who’s that?”

“Watch out!”

“Connie Con, is that you? YAHHH!”

Lynn shouted, “Calm down, everyone! Don’t panic! Try to get to the stairs.”

“Oh, my God.

“Get away!”

“It’s the BEAST!”

“This isn’t too cool.”

“Dude. ”

“Help me! Help!”

Lynn yelled, “Shit! Get out of here, everyone! Run!”

“Leave me ALONE!”

“Owie?” Monica’s voice, a terrified whimper, came from directly behind him.

“Monica?”

“Owie, where are you?”

“Phill!”

“Get off me!”

“The DOOR’S locked!”

“Dude, let’s haul ass. ”

“Who locked the fuckin’ door!”

“Right in front of you,” Owen said.

“NO! PLEASE!”

“Dear God!”

“Andy? Andy, where are you?”

Owen felt a hand pat his right shoulder blade. Darke’s arms were hugging him much lower, just above his waist.

“Is that you, Owie?”

“It’s me. Are you all right?”

“Fine and dandy, honey. ”

Something punched into his back. He grunted from the impact. As a molten pain flashed through him, he felt the thing slide out. Then it pounded into him again. He squealed.

Darke made a strange grunting sound.

She suddenly jerked in his embrace, twisting him sideways and driving him backward. He bumped into people but kept stumbling backward as if Darke were playing a rough game of football in a strange, pitch black stadium—fierce little contender plowing against him, determined to drive him out of bounds.

At last, they fell.

On their way down, Darke turned him. They landed hard on their sides.

Darke pulled away from him. She turned him facedown against the cellar’s dirt floor.

Through the roar in his ears and the cries and shouts, he heard Darke say, “She stabbed you.”

“Where...?”

“In the back. The knife’s still in you.”

“Where is she?” Owen gasped.

“Don’t know. Maybe we lost her. She’ll never find us in the dark.”

“Unless I HEAR you!” Monica blurted, glee in her voice.

Owen squealed with pain as the knife was suddenly jerked out of his back.

Chapter Sixty

SANDY’S STORY—June, 1997

Pistol in hand, steel bracelets shaking and rattling around her wrists, Sandy scurried on all fours through the tunnel. Dana seemed to be following her closely; the flashlight cast shadows and patches of light ahead of her.

She hurt everywhere.

But that was nothing new.

Nothing new, but worse. Though she’d been scratched up by Eric when he attacked her in Terry’s beach house, that had been child’s play compared to what she’d gone through last night.

Child’s play

Litterally

At the time, barely conscious in the tunnel chamber, she’d expected not to live through it. She’d expected to end up like the two devoured bodies already hanging from the beam. And she’d figured that she most likely deserved it.

Payment in full for her many crimes.

Never should’ve raised Eric in the first place. Should’ve killed him when he was still a baby, before he could grow up and destroy so many lives.

Never should’ve killed Slade or Lib or Harry.

Never should’ve gotten Terry killed.

Never should’ve murdered Eric’s baby.

Did Eric know about that, somehow?

After running off, had he come sneaking back from time to time, spied on her during those endless nine months in the woods, maybe even watched through a window of the cabin as she gave birth...as she discovered that it was his son, not Terry’s, and with her pocket knife cut the umbilical cord first, and then the monster’s throat?

And this is payback time ?

But as the beast tore at her and thrust into her last night, she’d found herself wondering from a faraway place at the edge of consciousness whether this really was Eric.

Has to be.

There IS no beast but Eric. He’s the last of them.

Should’ve named him Chingachgook.

And when the bell did he take up smoking?

But now it all made sense. It had been an imposter. A manic in a beast suit, ripping her with fake claws and teeth, raping her with a rubber cock—or plastic or...

But it came!

Impossible, she thought. Must’ve been my imagination.

Unless maybe he took off the suit.

She had no memory of anything like that, but she supposed that it might’ve happened. Plenty must’ve gone on; she only remembered bits and pieces...

Bastard could’ve brought in five buddies for a gang-bang for all I know.

Crawling as fast as she could through the tunnel, Sandy wondered if she would end up pregnant again.

That’d be just what I need.

Don’t do it to me, God, please, Are you there, God? It’s me, Sandy. Don’t do it to me again. Please, please. I swear, if you do, I’ll let it live. You can’t ask me to kill my own baby more than once per lifetime, okay? It wouldn’t be fair. Are you listening?

The earth beneath Sandy’s hands and knees began slanting upward.

We’re coming out!

And me without a stitch of clothes on, she thought.

So what else is new?

Too bad good old Blaze isn’t here to capture it on canvas. He’d love it. Call it ‘Last Charge of the Cave Girl,’ sell it for thousands. Only I don’t look so terrific at the moment. He’d have to clean me up and put me in a nice see-through gown...

She realized the flashlight’s beam was no longer reaching past her. Maybe because the slope was too steep.

She churned her way upward.

The top of her head punched into something heavy but yielding.

A body?

Had somebody fallen across the opening?

Sandy reached up with one hand and touched wet fabric. She shoved hard. The barrier rolled away.

She climbed out of the hole and into complete darkness.

Though her ears still rang from the gunshot, she heard wild outcries, shouts and shrieks.

Somebody bumped into her and yelped, almost knocking her off her feet. From the quick feel of fabric against her bare skin, she knew it wasn’t Clyde. She shoved the person away. Crouching slightly, she moved through the chaos with her left arm out to feel the way ahead and block assaults. Her right hand kept the pistol close to her side.

All around her, people were weeping, groaning, shouting.

“What was it?”

“You okay?”

“Where’d it go?”

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

From high in front of Sandy came harsh thuds of someone pounding on wood—the cellar door?

“Who ARE you?”

“SOMEBODY GET US our OF HERE!”

A brilliant red light suddenly came on, spinning and flinging out crimson as if a fire truck had somehow made its way into the cellar. Sandy glimpsed blood-red bodies rushing about, some sprawled on the floor, others huddled in corners, a few on the stairway.

And a beast inside the Kutch tunnel, running away.

The barred door stood wide open.

Just inside the entrance, mounted on the shoring of the tunnel wall, was the whirling red light.

Sandy raced for the tunnel, dodging and leaping over bodies that. blocked her way.

“Look at her!”

“Fuckin’A!”

“She’s got a gun!”

“Help us!”

“Let’s go with her!”

Sandy shouted, “EVERYBODY STAY BACK!” and ran into the tunnel.

Clyde had already vanished around a bend.

Sandy glanced at the spinning red light and saw a motion sensor.

Clyde must’ve set it off when he ran by.

How’d he get the door unlocked?

Had the key for it, stupid.

As a kid, Sandy had never liked this tunnel. It gave her the creeps, so she’d avoided it whenever possible.

Now, she wished she’d spent more time down here.

Though her memories were vague, she recalled that the tunnel had plenty of twists and bends, nooks, places where it split in two for a short distance, and even a couple of detours that led to dead-ends.

He could jump me so easily.

Slowing down, she jogged around a curve. Up ahead was another spinning red light.

No sign of Clyde.

She slowed to a quick walk.

What’s he up to? she wondered. Planning to make his getaway through Agnes’s house?

Feeling a strange mixture of longing and dread, Sandy realized that she would very likely be encountering Agnes within the next few minutes.

The woman had once been her best friend, her only friend, almost like a mother—more like a sister, maybe. Sandy hadn’t seen her since the summer of 1980, the day before Marlon Slade showed up at the trailer and ruined everything.

Though she had eventually come back to town in search of Eric, she’d eagerly looked forward to a reunion with Agnes.

Her first day back, she’d gone to the door of the Kutch house, knocked, called out, “Agnes, it’s me. Sandy. How are you? I’m back in town. I want to see you.” But there’d been no response from inside the house.

The next day, she’d tried again.

Still, no response.

After two weeks of secret visits, knocking and identifying herself, she’d finally gotten an answer from the other side of the door.

“Go away,” the voice had said.

“Agnes? It’s me, Sandy. You remember me, don’t you?”

“I remember.” Agnes sounded sour about it.

“I want us to be friends again.”

“Get lost.”

“Agnes? What’s wrong?”

“Got no use for you. Run off with the child. He was OURS. You hadn’t got no RIGHT!”

“I bad to leave. We where... ”

“Don’t wanta hear no excuses. Get lost. Go kill yourself.”

After that, Sandy had made no more attempts to contact Agnes.

Maybe Clyde and I can finish this in the tunnel, she thought. Before he gets all the way across to Agnes’s place.

She must really hate me.

I don’t want to see her.

But maybe if we meet face to face...

“Wait up!” someone called from behind Sandy.

She looked back. Two geeky-looking teenaged boys were hurrying along behind her. Following them was a husky young woman in a flannel shirt and jeans. The woman’s face was bleeding.

“Go back,” Sandy said.

“We wanta help you,” said the taller kid.

His chubby friend stared at her and nodded.

“He killed my husband!” blurted the woman.

Two more people rushed into view behind her. A slim, dapper man in a bloody camel sweater and a dazed-looking woman who was clinging to his hand. “Is this a way out?” asked the man.

“No, it’s not,” Sandy said. “Go back to the cellar. All of you. You’re interfering with police business.”

“You a cop?” asked the tall kid.

“I don’t see no badge,” said the chubby one, leering at her breasts.

“Want my sweatahirt?” asked the tall one. He started pulling it up.

“Go!” Sandy shouted. Then she whirled away from them and ran deeper into the tunnel.

To make up for the delay, she picked up her pace. Arms pumping, legs flying out, she ran as fast as she could—too fast for the bends in the tunnel.

If he’s waiting for me around one of these...

She dodged a dirt wall, lurched around a curve, bumped a wall with her shoulder.

And came out of the curve to find a section ahead that was as straight as a school hallway. This was the place, Sandy realized, where the tunnel passed underneath Front Street.

It was awash in scarlet from still another spinning light.

She spotted Clyde in the distance, a human head atop the body of a beast.

Running away for all he was worth.

Fifty, sixty feet away and moving fast.

Sandy lurched to a halt and raised her pistol. “POLICE!” she shouted. “STOP OR I’LL SHOOT!”

Twisting halfway around, Clyde looked back at her. Then he gasped out, “Don’t!” He raised his arms high, slowed down, turned until he was facing Sandy, and halted completely.

“Keep your hands up,” Sandy ordered. “Don’t move.” Right arm straight out, pistol aimed at his chest, she walked toward him.

“I give,” he gasped. “You got me.”

From behind Sandy came sounds of footfalls on the dirt floor. Then she heard quick, labored breathing.

She didn’t look back.

She walked straight toward Clyde. “Get down on your knees,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

As he sank to his knees, someone behind Sandy said, “Whoa!”

Another voice said, “Duuuude!”

“Shoot his ass!”

She didn’t look back, kept walking toward Clyde.

“You got him!” a woman blurted.

Still fifteen or twenty feet from Clyde, Sandy halted.

Keeping her pistol aimed at him, she spoke sharply. “I told you people to go back to the cellar. Now do what I say.”

“We wanta help,” said a kid.

“Is there any assistance we can give you?” asked an adult male voice. She supposed it belonged to the man in the bloody sweater.

“Thanks, but no. I want you all to leave. Go back to the cellar immediately.”

“Don’t!” Clyde blurted. “Don’t go! She’s gonna kill me! She’s gonna shoot me down in cold blood!”

“Is that true?” asked the man.

“Do it,” urged one of the teenagers.

“Kill his ass,” said the other.

“Maybe we’d better stay,” said a woman. Probably the man’s wife.

“GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE! NOW!”

“Don’t go! Please!”

Sandy heard someone rushing up behind her.

“Look out!” a kid warned.

She looked back. The chubby gal who’d lost her husband was lurching toward her, reaching out. “Gimme that!” the gal blurted. “I’ll kill him.”

“Nobody’s going to kill...”

“Oh, my God!” someone cried out.

“Shit!”.

“Look out!”

“HIT THE DECK, CLYDE HONEY!”

Sandy knew that voice.

Jerking her head forward, she saw Clyde throw himself flat on the dirt floor.

Beyond where he lay, Agnes Kutch waddled up the middle of the tunnel. Her hair looked rosy in the flashing red light. She had put on a lot of weight over the past seventeen years. As she trudged closer, her massive body flopped and bounced and swung inside her sheer nightgown.

Down low, clutched in both hands with its stock clamped against her bulging right side, Agnes carried something that looked very much like a Thompson submachine gun with a drum magazine.

“AGNES!” Sandy shouted. “DONT SHOOT! ITS ME! DROP THE... ”

“Gimme!” a woman squealed into Sandy’s ear. An arm reached past her face and a body slammed into her back, crashing her forward.

She stumbled, trying to keep her feet.

But it was no use.

As she began to fall, Agnes opened up. The Thompson jumped in her hands, spitting flame and bullets, deafening Sandy with its pounding roar.

On the way down, the gal on Sandy’s back tried to grab her wrist.

But suddenly jerked.

Blood exploded over the back of Sandy’s head and neck.

The weight of the woman smashed her against the tunnel floor. The impact knocked her breath out, but she kept her head up.

Agnes kept firing, her grin awash in the lightning of her muzzle flashes, her whole body jumping and shuddering as the Thompson jerked in her arms.

Flat on her belly, hurting all over, Sandy blinked her eyes clear of sweat and blood, stretched out her arm and fired a single shot.

It smacked Agnes in the forehead.

She keeled backward on stiff legs, raking the tunnel ceiling with gunfire, and landed flat on her back.

The Thompson went silent, stood erect by her side for a moment, then fell over sideways.

Sandy rolled out from under the body of the woman who’d wanted her pistol. The gal flopped over. She’d caught one in the right eye.

Clyde was still sprawled flat on the floor.

Sandy stood up.

She didn’t much want to turn around.

She turned around, anyway.

All of them were down, knocked sprawling by the heavy slugs of Agnes’s submachine gun: two teenaged boys, the man in the camel sweater and his wife. She looked at them only long enough to see that they’d been riddled beyond help. They were dead or dying.

She turned to Clyde.

“Get up,” she said.

He pushed himself to his knees.

Sandy saw that the big, fake penis was broken and dangling.

She walked toward him.

He raised his arms.

“I give,” he said, and smiled nervously.

She shot him in the face.

The blowback splashed her belly and breasts.

She watched him topple backwards.

Then she sighed and lowered the pistol.

And stood there.

I’d better go back to the others, she thought. But her body ached everywhere and she felt too weary to move.

Chapter Sixty-one

A FIGHT TO THE DEATH

Crawling through the narrow tunnel, Dana tried her best to keep up with Eve. Each time she raised her head, however, the naked legs and rear end of her friend were farther away.

She was tempted to call out, “Slow down.”

But it would be a waste of breath.

Eve wouldn’t slow down and wait for her; she was a woman an a mission, out to save the day.

Dana kept on crawling, sweating, huffing for air.

When she raised her head again, Eve was nowhere to be seen.

In front of her, the tunnel slanted upward.

Must be almost to the top.

Eve was probably out already.

On knees and elbows, Dana struggled up the slope. Why wasn’t any light coming in from the cellar? Maybe she was farther away than she thought.

Through the ringing in her ears, she heard people shouting.

Suddenly, her head was out of the hole.

What’s...?

The cellar wasn’t dark, after all. It glowed with red, flickering light that came from the Kutch tunnel.

Just as she realized that the barred iron door stood wide open, someone dashed into the tunnel.

Eve?

Dana only caught a glimpse before the woman raced out of sight.

It has to be Eve, she told herself. A naked gal running off with a pistol in her hand. Who else could it be?

Besides, nobody else on the tour had a figure like that.

Had Clyde taken off through the tunnel?

She shined her flashlight around, looking for the white costume. Her beam showed people sprawled on the floor, others huddled together, a few hurrying this way and that.

No sign of Clyde.

As Dana crawled out of the hole, someone rushed at her from the left. She flung up an arm, expecting a blow. Her arm was grabbed. “The shit hit the fan,” Tuck said, pulling to help her up. “Clyde went nuts. He busted the light and started clawing everybody. It was fuckin pandemonium around here.”

On her feet, Dana said, “Where is he?”

“Took off through the Kutch tunnel. Eve went after him.”

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

Dana shined the light on her.

The left side of Tuck’s face looked red and swollen. A path the width of a large hand had been torn straight down the front of her uniform shirt from her left shoulder to her waist. Her bra was still intact, however. She didn’t seem to be scratched. The long flap of torn shirt hung almost to her knee.

“Clyde did that?” Dana asked.

“Sharp claws. It’s okay. He pretty much missed. Look, I need you.” Tuck squeezed her arm. “We keep some spare bulbs down here.”

“Let’s go get em.”

“I already did. Come on.” She led Dana over to a steamer trunk. Bending down, she lifted one end. “Just light my way.”

Dana raised her flashlight, swept it here and there, and found the dangling light fixture. “Here we go.”

Tuck dragged the trunk into position directly beneath the fixture, then climbed up.

Dana shined her flashlight on the jagged remains of the bulb. “Careful you don’t cut yourself.”

“Have you got a rag?” Tuck asked.

Dana plucked a handful of fabric out of the left front pocket of her shorts. Too late, she realized it was Warren’s underwear—her souvenir from last night in his car. She handed it to Tuck, anyway.

Holding the good bulb in her mouth, Tuck balled up the underwear. She held the fixture with one hand. With the other, she shoved the bunched briefs up against the sharp remains of the broken bulb.

As she twisted it, Professor Bixby stepped closer to watch.

The base came loose. Tuck tossed it away, handed the underwear down to Dana, then took the fresh bulb out of her mouth. Twisting it into the fixture, she said, “This is how many tour guides it takes to screw in a light bulb.”

Suddenly, the bulb flared to life, filling the cellar with light.

“Good show!” Bixby proclaimed.

Dana shut off her flashlight and looked around. She saw Phil dead on the dirt floor just behind the tunnel hole, his throat ripped open. No sign of his wife, Connie. No sign of Andy or Alison Lawrence, either. Eleanor was on her knees, stuffing her folded tennis sweater underneath the head of her husband, Biff. He’d been ripped down the chest. His knit shirt was shredded and bloody, but he was conscious.

Dennis and Arnold seemed to be missing.

Off to the right, Owen lay facedown, bare to the waist. Vein’s black leather jacket was spread on the floor underneath him. Darke, on her knees beside him, used both hands to press a cloth against his back—probably his own shirt. She held a red-handled pocket knife in her teeth.

A few feet away from them, Vein had Monica pinned to the floor. In black satin bra, leather short-shorts and boots, Vein sat on top of Monica like a punk Dracula groupie, pressing a knife to her throat.

“Vein?” Dana called. “What’s going on?”

“She stabbed Owen.”

“Who stabbed him?”

“Monica.”

Darke met Dana’s eyes. Unable to talk because of the knife in her mouth, she nodded her head up and down.

“I did not,” Monica protested. “They’re lying bitches. She stabbed him. She was jealous!”

“He’s hurt pretty badly,” Vein explained. “We need to get him to a hospital.”

Tuck jumped down from the trunk. “Whatever the hell Clyde did upstairs—other than locking us in—I’m damn sure he didn’t call for an ambulance or cops. If we can’t bust the door open, we’d better...”

Tuck’s voice stopped.

Heads turned.

From somewhere down the Kutch tunnel came a chain of gunfire. Muffled and far away, the shots crashed together so fast they almost sounded like heavy cloth or canvas being ripped down the middle.

“Holy shit,” Tuck said.

“What is that?” Dana asked.

Bixby, eyes wide behind his glasses, said, “Machine gun.”

“That can’t be good,” Tuck muttered.

The weapon went silent.

“Could Eve’s gun sound like that?” Dana asked.

Bixby shook his head. “If you mean the nude lady with the pistol, I’m afraid not.”

Tuck stared at the entrance to the Kutch tunnel. “Eve’ll be okay,” she said. “Nothing can stop her.”

Suddenly leaping away from her injured husband, Eleanor blurted, “We’ve gotta get out of here!” and raced up the stairs.

“Can’t get out that way,” Tuck called to her. “The door’s locked.”

“Maybe we should go see what happened with Eve,” Dana suggested.

“Where’d everybody else go?” Tuck asked.

“I don’t know.”

“They went chasing after Eve,” Bixby explained. “Oh, perhaps half a dozen of them. Including those teenagers.”

From the direction of the Kutch tunnel came a single, quick bam!

A smile spread across Tuck’s face. “That was Eve’s gun,” she said.

They listened for more shots.

And heard a low grumbling noise that sounded very much like the growl of a vicious dog. But it didn’t seem to be coming from the Kutch tunnel.

It came from somewhere in the cellar.

Dana twisted around.

Out of the hole in the floor protruded a hairless, snouted head. It swung from side to side, pale blue eyes darting about.

Tuck yelled, “SHIT!”.

This can’t be happening, Dana thought. Clyde was the beast.

Who’s THIS?

The shiny white mouth writhed as it bared its teeth.

And Dana knew this wasn’t anyone in a beast suit.

She felt herself shrivel inside.

This had to be the creature that savaged Warren, that snatched Eve and ripped and fucked her and left her handcuffed in its lair—that devoured those other two poor people.

No. Eve’s beast was Clyde. It bad to be. The cigarette stink, the keys...

As if it were in no hurry at all, the creature began to climb out of the hole.

“What’s going on down there?” Eleanor called from the stairway.

“We’ve got a beast,” Tuck said. She sounded strangely calm.

"I say,” Bixby muttered.

“A what?” asked Eleanor.

In a loud, firm voice, Tuck said, “Tine to scram, everyone! Go for the Kutch tunnel! Run like hell!”

Bixby twisted around and raced for the Kutch tunnel.

Eleanor came rushing down the stairs, tennis skirt flouncing around her thighs.

Darke let the knife fall from her mouth. “I can’t leave Owen..”

“Stay put,” Vein said. “You, too,” she told Monica as she climbed off. Knife in hand, she turned toward the rising beast.

Suddenly free, Monica scurried up and dashed for the Kutch tunnel.

Vein whirled, flipped her knife and caught it by the blade, then cocked back her arm to throw it.

“No!” Darke yelled. “Don’t! You’ll lose your knife!”

Vein lowered her arm.

Monica sprinted into the tunnel, Eleanor racing in dose behind her.

The beast now stood on the cellar floor in front of the hole, flexing its claw-tipped fingers as its head turned slowly. It seemed to be studying each of the four women. Its growl sounded like a loud, rumbling purr.

Clyde’s suit had been a good replica.

But this was no costume; this was skin. Snow-white skin that rippled with muscles, that gleamed with a sheen of slime. The teeth of this creature were yellow. The mouth drooled.

Unlike Clyde’s suit, it had no permanent erection.

The erection grew as the creature stood there, eyeing the women. Grew longer and longer, thickening and rising.

It had the mouth, all right.

The shaft pointed at Tuck. The mouth bared its teeth and flicked its forked tongue at her.

“Oh, shit,” Tuck murmured.

Dana glanced over at Vein and Darke. “Get the hell out of here, gals. Carry Owen with you. Or drag him. Just get out of here. Now!”

“Go with ‘em,” Tuck said.

“Me?” Dana asked. “No way.”

“I’ll keep the thing busy.”

“Bullshit. You go.”

“Not me.”

“Not me, either,” Vein said. “Three of us, one of it.”

“Four of us,” Darke said. She patted Owen’s rump, picked up the folding knife, then stood up.

Roaring, the beast suddenly launched itself at Tuck. She held her ground and drew back a fist.

Dana lurched in from the side, swinging her flashlight like a small club. The head of the flashlight bounced off the creature’s brow.

Snarling, the beast whirled toward Dana. A paw swept by, knocking the flashlight from her hand. As she backstepped to get away, the thing came at her.

Tuck leaped at it.

A powerful arm bashed Tuck across the chest. She seemed to explode off her feet.

As she soared across the cellar, the beast clutched Dana’s shoulders. Claws digging in, it thrust her backward and down. She slammed against the cellar floor. Straddling her, it ripped at her clothes. She punched at it, but her blows seemed to have no effect. Quick claws scratched and furrowed her skin as they tore off her shirt and bra and stripped off her shorts in a matter of seconds.

She glimpsed a blur of motion from her left as someone dived onto the beast.

The running dive snagged it off her.

She rolled onto her side and saw Darke on the floor under the back of the beast, right arm across its throat, left arm across its chest. In her left hand was the pocket knife. She raised the knife and brought it down hard.

Striking the chest of the beast, the short blade folded in and clamped shut on Darke’s hand. She squealed in pain, but kept her left arm across the throat of the beast and wrapped her leather-clad legs around its thighs.

It thrashed on top of her, its erection thrusting at the air, mouth snapping.

As Dana struggled to get up, Vein rushed in and dropped to her knees at the heads of Darke and the beast. She raised her knife high, clutching it with both hands. No little pocket knife that might fold on her, this was a dagger with a rigid, eight inch blade. She plunged it down toward the chest of the beast.

The creature slapped it from her hands.

The knife flew at Dana. Before she could move, an inch of its blade entered her just above her left breast.

The creature’s next blow ripped off half of Vein’s face and knocked her head sideways. Face flapping like a bloody rag, she was suddenly looking behind her back. She tumbled toward the cellar floor.

Dana grabbed the knife and pulled it out of herself.

She stumbled to her feet.

“Hurry!” Darke gasped from beneath the beast.

Knife raised overhead, Dana dived between its legs. She expected to land on its penis, but she’d thought it would give way under her weight.

It didn’t.

Rigid as a tent pole, it pounded her in the belly and punched her breath out. Folding over it, she tried to drive her knife down into the beast’s chest.

Both her wrists were suddenly grabbed.

Instead of mauling her, the beast pulled her arms straight out past its head, stretching her as all of her weight bore down on the stiff, upright shaft.

Though Darke still had an arm across the beast’s throat, the thing started to make a hissing sound that seemed like laughter.

The mouth that was shoved so hard against Dana’s belly suddenly bit her.

Crying out with pain and horror, she bucked fiercely and flung herself aside.

She fell to the cellar floor, but the beast stayed with her, gripping her wrists. They rolled, and suddenly it was on top of her, Darke somehow still clinging to its back. Seemingly unconcerned by Darke, the beast planted its mouth on Dana’s mouth, forced her lips open and thrust its tongue in.

The other mouth no longer bit her belly.

It had moved lower.

Now, she felt it between her legs.

Licking, nibbling.

NO! she cried out inside her head.

She chomped down hard on the beast’s tongue, but her teeth wouldn’t sink in. The tongue was too solid.

Dana suddenly heard a crashing sound—like someone smashing through a door.

The beast jerked its tongue from her mouth and turned its head.

Footfalls began thudding down the wooden stairs.

“what’s going on?”

It was a man’s voice.

Warren’s voice.

“Help us!” Darke yelled.

“Oh, my God!” Warren blurted.

With a roar, the beast sprang off Dana. As it scurried over her body, she reached up with her left hand and caught hold. The shaft was slippery, but she held on tight.

The beast didn’t stop, didn’t seem to care.

Darke on its back, Dana dragging beneath it, the creature scampered across the cellar floor, roaring, apparently eager to pounce on Warren.

As Dana was dragged between its legs, she pulled at the slippery rod with all the strength in the left arm, raising her head and back out of the cellar dirt, pulling herself higher, higher.

Then she plunged the knife into the creature’s belly and ripped downward.

His front opened like a shiny white bag, spilling blood and intestines onto Dana’s face.

A woman cried out “NO!”

The beast bellowed in agony.

As it fell headlong, Dana let go and dropped against the cool dirt.

“Oh, God, no!”

Eve?

Rolling onto her side, Dana wiped some of the mess away from her face and saw Eve rushing forward, naked, a tommy-gun in her hands.

Ignoring all else, Eve ran toward the beast.

It was sprawled on the floor, head against the bottom stair.

Darke was climbing off its back while Warren stood on the fourth stair, his mouth hanging open as he gaped at the carnage.

Eve, sobbing, squatted next to the creature. She set her tommy-gun aside, then reached down with both hands, clutched the beast by one shoulder and turned it over.

It flopped onto its back.

Eve hunched over it, weeping as she caressed its hideous face.

“Eve?” Dana said. “What’s wrong?”

One of the sobs suddenly sounded like, “Huh?”

Eve’s back straightened.

“What’s wrong?” Dana asked again.

“Nothing.” Eve looked at her with wet red eyes, wiped tears away, and gave her a trembling smile. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said. I’m fine.” She gave the beast’s face a rough smack with her open hand, then picked up the tommy-gun and got to her feet. “I guess somebody’d better find a telephone.”

Chapter Sixty-two

SUNDAY MORNING

1. Tuck’s Long Distance Call

“Sorry to disturb you, Janice, but I’m afraid we had some trouble last night on the Midnight Tour.”

2. Visiting Hour—Owen

Waking up in a hospital room, Owen found Darke sitting beside his bed. “Hi,” he said.

She smiled softly at him.

Her clingy, black silk blouse was gone, replaced by a black T-shirt that seemed to be a few sizes too small for her. Seeing her in the T-shirt, nobody would mistake her for a guy.

Owen looked at her bandaged hand.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Monica stabbed you.”

“Oh...I know that. What happened to you?”

“Just a minor cut. I’m fine.” Tears suddenly glistened in her eyes. “Vein didn’t make it, though.”

“Monica stabbed Vein?”

“The beast killed her.”

“Oh, my God.”

“She...always hoped they were real. Always wanted to meet one face to face. They say you’ve gotta be careful what you wish for.”

Groggy and confused, Owen shook his head. “I don’t...How was she killed?”

“We took on the beast. The four of us. Lynn, Dana, me and Vein. And we killed it, too.”

“You mean Clyde? You killed Clyde?”

She shook her head, her pale hair swaying across her brow.

“You really were out of it. After Clyde, a real beast came along. That’s how Monica got away from us. We couldn’t keep her prisoner and fight the beast, so we let her go. She ran off through the Kutch tunnel and that’s the last anyone’s seen of her.”

3. Tuck’s Long Distance Call—Part II

“We think Clyde didn’t call the police—he called Agnes, instead. So then she came to his rescue with a Tommy-gun.”

4. Visiting Hour—Sandy

“Okay, honey, quit beating around the bush and tell me who did it?”

“I’m not your honey, Cochran.”

“Oh, excuse meeee, Officer Chaney.”

“I’ll get out of bed and wreck you.”

Flushing, Cochran said, “I’m simply trying to determine the truth.”

“The truth is... I’m pretty sure it was both of them. Clyde and the beast.”

“Which of them abducted you in the attic?”

“I don’t know.”

“Which dragged you into the tunnel?”

“I’m not sure, but Clyde must’ve been the one who unlocked it.”

“Which handcuffed you?”

“That must’ve been Clyde, too.”

“Which was responsible for your injuries?”

“I smelled the cigarette smoke, but...not always. I think it was probably both of them.”

“Taking turns?”

“Something like that. Maybe.”

“Who ate those people?”

“I don’t know.”

“Either of ‘em eat you?”

“Watch it.”

“And which of them do you think committed the sexual assaults on you?”

Eve studied Cochran, her eyes narrow. Finally, she answered, “Both.”

“Which did you prefer?”

She leaped out of bed. Cochran made it halfway across the hospital room before she got close enough to shove him. Stumbling out of control, he almost made it through the doorway. But his right shoulder collided with the frame and he cried out in pain.

As he flopped on the floor, Sandy called out, “Is there a doctor in the house?”

5. Tuck’s Long Distance Call—Part III

“Well, we think Clyde must’ve been having a relationship with Agnes ... No, I’m not kidding. Just before she opened fire, she yelled out for him to hit the deck. And Eve said she called him ‘honey’ or ‘darling’ or something like that. Sounds like they were lovers...I know, I know...Well, she was filthy rich. Maybe Clyde was hoping for a big inheritance. Or maybe he was just really into this whole beast thing. If you ask me, Clyde and the beast and Agnes were probably having a menagerie a tois...No, not menage, menagerie... Well, I don’t find it that amusing, either. I know a lot of people were killed.”

6. Visiting Hour—Owen, Part II

“What’re you going to do now?” Owen asked.

Beneath her tight T-shirt, Darke shrugged her shoulders.

“I guess I’ll stay right here till they kick me out.”

“What then?”

“Hang around town, I guess, and wait for them to release you. They say it’ll probably be a few more days.”

She’s going to wait for me!

“Do you have a place to stay?” Owen asked.

“Lynn said I can stay at her house.”

Owen remembered hiding in the bushes with John...spying on the three women...and he remembered the third spy, the one they’d heard but never seen.

What happened to John? Is be still hanging around near the house, or...?

“I’ve got a room at the Welcome Inn,” Owen said. “That’s where my stuff is. And my rental car. If you’d rather stay there, I could call and...you know, extend my stay.”

“I have a better idea,” Darke said. “If you’d like, I’ll go to the room and pick up your things. I can take them with me over to Lynn’s. That way, you won’t have to pay for all those nights at the motel.”

“Well...I’m just not sure you should stay at Lynn’s house.”

“Why not?”

He couldn’t tell her about the mysterious prowler hiding in the bushes.

“Maybe it isn’t safe,” he said.

“It’ll be fine. Dana’ll be there, too. I think the three of us can handle just about anything. I mean, we killed the beast, didn’t we? With a little help from Vein,” she added, and tears again filled her eyes.

7. Tuck’s Long Distance Call—Part IV

“Well, Warren was hanging around outside. You know how he wouldn’t step foot in Beast House because of getting jumped that time? Speaking of which, I hear it wasn’t teenagers. Thanks for the honesty, Janice...Oh, little birdies...You should be...Oh, because he was waiting for the tour to end. He and Dana happen to be madly in love. They can’t stand to be apart.”

Tuck grinned at Dana and Warren, who were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table. Blushing, Dana watched Warren’s face turn scarlet.

“Anyway,” Tuck continued, “he was out near the street and he heard Agnes’s machine gun. Or felt it under his feet. So he figured shit was happening down in the tunnel. Fearing for the life of his true love, he cast paranoia to the winds and ran to her rescue...No, Dana did, but Warren busted the door open for us.”

“Hey,” Dana protested. “Warren distracted it. That’s what saved me. Tell her.”

“Dana says to tell you Warren saved her by distracting the beast.” Tuck listened, nodding, then smiled at Warren. “Janice says she always knew you were a secret hero.”

Warren blushed again. “Tell her thanks.”

“He says thanks.”

8. Sandy’s Long Distance Call

Smiling at the sound of his voice, Sandy asked, “Am I speaking to the one and only Blaze O. Glory?...Yep, it’s me. How’ve you been?...Yeah, I’ve been missing you, too...A very long time...Five years ... Well, I had to go looking for my son...No, nothing like that. I’m sure he just ran off on his own. He’s always had sort of a wild streak... No, I’m afraid not. But I’m sure he’s probably getting along just fine, wherever he is...The reason I called, I had a little accident. I’m going to be off my job for a couple of weeks, and wondered if you’d like to have a house guest...I don’t know about modeling, I’m pretty banged up...Well, we’ll see...I can probably be there day after tomorrow...That’ll be great, Blaze.” Her throat tightened, and she felt tears well up in her eyes. “I’m really looking forward to seeing you again, too.”

9. Visiting Hour—Owen, Part III

Bending over the bed, Darke kissed him gently on the mouth.

Then she eased her lips away and whispered, “See you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

“By the way, I’m Karen.”

“Karen?”

“Karen Marlowe.”

“That’s a nice name,” Owen said.

“I don’t know how nice it is, but it’s mine. Thought you oughta know.”

10. Tuck’s Long Distance Call—Part V

“Hi, Dad. How’s the cruise?...I’m fine...Really Thanks to Dana. She saved my tail when the beast tried to nail me...Yeah, I know...” Tuck nodded as she listened. Though she was smiling, her chin began to tremble and tears filled her eyes. “I love you, too, Dad.” She sniffed. She took a deep breath. Then she said, “So, have you knocked up Janice yet? I’m hoping for a little sister.”

Chapter Sixty-three

SUNDAY NIGHT

Sitting with the gift on his lap, he flinched at the sudden brightness as lights came on behind the house and inside the big and little pools. Soon, three women came outside and walked toward the little pool. It was bubbling and steaming.

Last night, nobody at all had shown up.

He’d thought that maybe they stayed away because the one he liked best hadn’t been pleased by the gift he’d left in her room.

But she was back, tonight. So was her friend, the smaller woman with the very long yellow hair.

With them was a woman he had never seen before. She was small and thin, with very short yellow hair. She had an injured hand that was wrapped in white.

His mother was not with them.

He felt glad about that.

The one he liked best looked a lot like his mother, looked so much like her that he always felt very strange when he saw her. But she wasn’t his mother.

Mother had been here twice. The first time, he’d felt shocked and happy and frightened, all at once. He’d felt an urge to run up to her and hug her, but was afraid to do that because maybe she was still mad at him. She’d been very mad at him the day he hurt her and ran away. Maybe she was still mad, and looking for him because she wanted to hurt him back.

He knew that his mother could be very dangerous when she was mad.

He’d felt the danger of her both times when she was here and came hunting for him. If she’d caught him, she would’ve hurt him. Both times, though, he’d crept away and escaped from her.

Tonight, he wouldn’t need to creep away.

Mother was gone, so there was no one to fear.

At the edge of the hot spa, Dana crouched and set down the bottle of wine. And remained in a crouch, aching too much to move. Earlier in the evening, she’d joined Warren for margaritas, then joined him for barbecued ribs, then joined him in bed. They’d compared wounds. They’d laughed and wept and made love. Because of her injuries, Warren had been very gentle with her. Though she’d wanted to spend the entire night with him, she’d finally asked for a ride home.

There’d been those troubles with the prowler.

Tuck and Darke were likely to use the pool or hot spa, and Eve, laid up in the hospital, wouldn’t be around to protect them.

Still crouching, Dana watched Tuck place a stack of folded towels on the concrete within easy reach of the spa. Then Tuck took off her robe and let it fall. Wearing her doe skin bikini, she stepped down into the bubbly water. “Ahhh,” she said. “Nice and hot.”

Darke stood on the edge. Balancing on her left foot, she lowered her right foot into the water and dipped her toes in.

“It’s clothing optional, you know,” Tuck told her.

Darke nodded. She wore a skintight black tank suit, cut low in front and high at the hips. “I think I’ll keep mine on for now,” she said. She lowered herself into the water, keeping her bandaged hand high.

“You have a question?” Dana asked her.

Darke laughed.

“Are you getting in?” Tuck asked Dana.

Groaning, Dana stood up straight. “I don’t think so. I doubt that hot, dirty water would do my wounds any good.”

“Dirty water?” Tuck protested.

“You’re in it.”

Laughing, Tuck asked, “How bad are you hurt?”

“I’m pretty messed up.”

“We’ll be the judges of that,” Tuck said. “Let’s see.”

Dana looked across the pool.

“Give our Peeping Tom a treat,” Tuck urged her.

“What Peeping Tom?” Darke asked.

“Nothing to worry about,” Tuck said.

Dana reached behind her neck, grabbed the Beast House T-shirt with both hands, and pulled it over her head.

Holding the shirt by her side, she asked, “What do you think?”

Tuck and Darke stared up at her.

She wore nothing.

She knew that she looked as if she’d been been thrown into a pit full of rabid cats. Most of her scratches were shallow. Only a few had been bandaged. In the several places where she’d been bitten, however, she was patched with thick pads of gauze.

“Well,” Tuck said, “I guess you could soak your feet.”

“More than that,” said Darke. “You look perfectly fine, Dana—all the way up to the knees.”

Watching from the bushes, he moaned.

The one he liked best was naked.

And hurt.

Confused for a moment, he wondered if be had done it to her.

The other night when he took the gift to her and...? He had touched her while she slept. He had caressed her. But he hadn’t hurt her.

He hadn’t dug his claws into her skin.

Hadn’t bit her.

But seeing the wounds and bandages on her body, he thought about how it would feel to have her under him, to put his teeth and claws in her, to taste her and bite her with his big mouth and with his little mouth. He wondered what it would be like to shove up into her...

A hulking white shape lurched out of the bushes across the pool, roaring. It carried someone’s severed head.

The head swung by its hair. The face looked beaten and chewed. Much was missing.

“Holy shit!” Tuck yelled.

As the creature bounded around the far end of the pool, Dana dropped her T-shirt, ducked and grabbed the wine bottle by its neck. She raised the bottle like a dub. Wine burbled out, spilling down her arm and splashing the concrete.

Darke sprang out of the spa. Hunched over slightly, she glanced this way and that as if seeking a weapon.

The beast rushed around the pool’s corner and came straight at Dana.

“Get out of the way!” Tuck yelled.

Dana leaped aside.

The beast dodged and rushed in.

She swung the wine bottle. It exploded against the side of the beast’s head.

Growling, the monster swung the severed head at her.

It slammed her in the face.

As she started to fall, she heard the roar of Tuck’s .44 Magnum.

She crashed against the concrete and flung herself over, hoping to roll clear.

She was face down when the beast caught her. It thrust a warm, slimy arm under her shoulder and down her chest. As the arm clamped her between her breasts, the beast’s other hand clutched her between the legs.

It hoisted her off the concrete. Hugging her sideways, her back tight against its chest, it swung around.

Tuck in the spa with her Magnum and Darke running toward Dana whirled by in a blur.

Then the spinning stopped.

The world jerked and bounced as the beast ran along the edge of the pool.

“SHOOT IT!” she cried out.

But she didn’t hear another gunshot.

Tuck must’ve missed that first time. Now, she was probably afraid to try again—afraid of hitting Dana.

Oh, my God, don’t let it take me away!

Chapter Sixty-four

DREAM KISS

In his dream, Karen was kissing him.

A deep, wet kiss, her tongue thrusting into his mouth.

Owen squirmed under the weight of her body. His hands roamed feverishly up and down the smooth bare skin of her back.

Coming up out of the depths of sleep, he realized it was more than a dream.

She was here with him.

Here in the darkness of his hospital room.

Here in his bed.

On top of him.

The mouth eased away, leaving his lips wet.

“Karen.” he whispered.

“Owie.”

Chapter Sixty-five

DANA

He’ll kill me when he gets done.

Kill me, eat me.

Maybe not.

Maybe be likes me too much.

Maybe he’ll keep me alive.

If I can stay alive, maybe I can escape.

Or they’ll rescue me.

Tuck and Darke.

No, no, be lost them.

Long time ago.

Way too fast for ‘em.

OH!

Did they give up, go home?

Call the cops?

Call Eve, guys.

Call Eve.

OH!

Get Eve out of the hospital.

She’ll find me.

She’ll save me.

Eve of Destruction!

OH!

She’ll nail him.

Nail him good.

Nail him!

OH!

OH!

YES!!!

RICHARD LAYMON

Richard Laymon is the author of over 30 novels and 65 short stories. Though a native of Illinois and a long-time Californian, his name is more familiar to readers in Great Britain. Australia and New Zealand, as well as much of the rest of the world, where he is published in fifteen foreign languages. He has written such acclaimed novels as The Beast House. The Cellar, After Midnight, The Lake, Into the Fire, Come Out Tonight, Body Rides. To Wake the Dead. No Sanctuary, Island, Among the Messing, One Rainy Night, In the Dark, and Bite. The Traveling Vampire Show won a Bram Stoker Award for Novel of the Year in 2001. Two of his earlier novels (Flesh and Funland) and a short story collection (A Good, Secret Place) previously had been nominated for Bram Stoker Awards as well.

Check out the Richard Laymon Kills! Web site at www.rlk.cjb.net.